top of page
Nehalem's Pocket
Hunter Bordwell-Gray
Each August is a departure
past the paint of highway lines,
where the concrete turns to gravel
on a path unfolding into fathomless greenery.
On those old silt roads
a truck window becomes your aperture
into the wilds, rife with little wonders
known solely to the wood and stone.
Like that truss bridge
slumbering above the riverbed.
Overgrowth climbs its steel lattice
forever held in decommission.
Perhaps it found some peace at last
among the same flora it once defaced.
A bridge in good company.
Like that bucket of crawdads,
stirring in thoughtless orbit
of a container they cannot define,
until a nameless fisherman
can come to collect their prize.
Granted they have a mind
to return at all.
Like that old silt road,
A monument of impossible distance
that can’t help but spark the question
“How could anyone build this?”
A question more valuable
than its answer.
To name its mystery
is to break it
when all I wish to find
is peace in the unknown.
Hunter Bordwell-Gray
I am a lifelong Portland resident and a first-year Creative Writing/Poetry student at PCC. I started my journey in elementary school, intricately crafting my first novel on a rundown laptop…as far as a 10 year old could stay entertained before chasing the next shiny idea. Since then, I have delved into the realms of poetry, tabletop campaign writing, and multimedia production. For me, writing is the only medium that allows me to clearly convey my ideas and experiences to other people where otherwise I sometimes struggle to express myself. I take much of my inspiration from a hodgepodge of nature, analog horror podcasts, and the roulette wheel that is my taste in music.
bottom of page