Estuarial
By Kathleen Loe
“Estuarial” by Kathleen Loe is the first runner-up of the 2026 Rising Poet Prize, selected by Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo. We’re honored to share this shimmering poem with you.
Hudson River, NY
winter moves in like an occupation.
its chilling field rolls over me and down
the long throw of warren street
to the threadbare flank of the hudson,
and it is only october.
already the trees are emptying
my memories of green.
river shines the color of glare.
its opposite edge fails to hold the line
against the sky—fusing
the illusion of distance
in a flux of oyster light.
home is fifty years away
and I’ve roamed for most of it—
some voodoo of unrootedness had me
leave each place too soon. am I still
my louisiana?
decaying in the dream of her
swampy gluttony of green, hot and cool,
all the green and miles of iris—sirens
in sapphire sleeves. The old families
of oaks throwing acorns and shade.
The air bleeds water at the slightest touch.
why is everything else able to grow there?
i’ve tried many times—to live eye-level
with the rowdy Mississippi—risking
its bright brown willfulness,
its tricky systems
of locks and levies checking the river’s reach
from what comes naturally.
not overflowing is exhausting.
Have I been decanted now
into this gritty
river town? citizen or permanent visitor
to its celebrated histories of light and tides—
heavy sediments settling dark and necessary.
two-way currents, swirling estuaries
running from and to the source.