First Love
Today, adjusting my jacket in strong wind, I look down to the hem, remember the neat way she’d pull up the bottom zipper—quick, decisive—to open a gap for her hips. Who are we, those many years ago, to our current selves? Twice a decade, we meet for tea, polite about the others we’ve gone on to love. Her small hands. How they seemed capable of almost anything: thumb nudging a throttle just enough to come alongside a dock; what we did below decks and in the gear locker, the smell of burned nylon from the line cutter, a thin, heated blade that separated strands and cauterized them so they wouldn’t fray, all around us, everything I wanted to be, awakening. Originally appears in SOFAR: Poems (Persea, 2025)
Poet/naturalist Elizabeth Bradfield is author of five collections of poetry, most recently SOFAR: Poems, as well as several collaborative projects, including Cascadia Field Guide: Art, Ecology, Poetry, winner of a Pacific Northwest Book Award among other honors. A former Stegner Fellow, winner of the Audre Lorde Prize in Lesbian Poetry, and Editor-in-chief of Broadsided, Liz works as a naturalist and directs the Poetry Concentration for the low-residency MFA at Western Colorado University. When asked about her multiple interests, she says, "I am an aspiring generalist." Forever queer, forever curious, you can learn more at www.ebradfield.com