Golden Gate

Coming back
to the moon-thirsty sea,
I am confronted daily—
taunted almost—
by the presence of the Bridge—
a Goliath in my memory—
it winks at me—
a private joke—
and by the sea,
cold and obscure,
yet beckoning darkly—
as it did to my mother
“ … finish what she started,
come to me …”

Irene Barnard

Irene Barnard recently finished San Francisco State University’s graduate writing program. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 1997 and received Honorable Mention in the Academy of American Poets' Harold Taylor Prize in 1999. She writes about humans, nature, and human nature, and has been published in Tempus, nocturne(s) review, Coast & Ocean, Under Duress and Bay Nature.