Preteens on the Brink
By Kent Neal
Alder leaves rustle around us.
I nudge my sister, daring her
toward the edge. She extends a foot
in the direction of the river,
holds it in midair, reels it back
like a fish line gone astray. Sis,
let me show you how. I clamber
over the precipice. My chest thumps,
a sea lion barking inside.
Desperate fingers claw clay soil,
clumps of grass; legs dangling,
as exposed as roots to Portlanders
driving below. Sister’s fingers
intertwine mine like ivy vines,
pulling me back up. In the coastal wind,
a salmonberry’s magenta petals wave.
Kent Neal, a gay poet, has published three poetry collections: The Compass, the Labyrinth, and the Hourglass (2015), Where Saltwater Mixes With Freshwater (2017), and A Ray of Light in the Lion’s Eye (2021). He holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Lesley University. Originally from Oregon, Kent lives in Lyon, France. One of his poems won 6th place for non-rhyming poetry in the 2025 Writer’s Digest Annual Writing Competition. His work has appeared in The Hole In The Head Review, Bicoastal Review, Puerto del Sol, and elsewhere. Visit: http://www.kentneal.com
