Rainier by Bethany Reid

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Rainier

Her shift began at six a.m.,
which meant setting out in darkness
on the river road to town.
Halfway there, the mountain would break
out of the morning, bold as an egg
breaking onto the grill,
looming over barbed wire fences
and milk cows swaying,
full-uddered, into barns.
Years later, sitting in the circle of light
under her desklamp,
she thinks of that mountain,
how it held a place for her,
like a bookmark,
between childhood’s locked diary
and this poem.

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Bethany Reid has two published books of poetry, The Coyotes and My Mom, and Sparrow, which won the 2012 Gell Poetry Prize, selected by Dorianne Laux. She blogs at awritersalchemy.wordpress.com.