Arcadia

Arcadia

Cara Valle

An irridescent bluegill on his hook,
the boy is shouting fifty yards upstream,

"Hey, come and look! I caught a giant fish!"

Late sun is glowing on his white-blond hair
and flashing off the ripples of the run.
Virginia creeper, milkweed, cottonwoods
embrace the bank. Their deep green, steamy scent
is incense where my feet rush by the leaves.

Almost halfway, I hear the splashing fish
and grip my camera when, beneath one foot,
the formless menace halts me. Stumbling back,
the mind admits what eyes and body knew:
a spiral of dead leaves with flicking tongue
and marquis pupil eyes, the copperhead
observes me sternly. Then he slides away,
whispering with his body as he goes,
Yes, I am here.
Beneath the bitter dock
he disappears. I go unhook the fish
and guide my son's hand as he sets it free.

The stream still flashes clear over smooth stones
and sycamores exhale an evening breeze.

---

Cara Valle
Poet & Student

Cara Valle lives in Virginia with her husband and five children. Her poems have previously appeared in First Things, Ekphrasis, Think, Mezzo Cammin, and other journals. She is currently an MFA student at the University of St. Thomas in Houston, TX.

Photography by Shana Van Roosbroek