Weak motion of grasses and tern before the sea. Worry's school cresting here and everywhere as failings. I pace the cliff path, my hands cupped above my eyes. The glare steals your progress, a kayak needling the wide open. Love means you answer, this the child's rebuke. A pattern crosses the point, hemming the horizon: steamship. I didn't know you were the green pitch unable to beat the storm to shore. You didn't know I was the lookout. Get accustomed to the sad girl picking you out of the sea, the knot caught in her throat, and the unraveling of her speech: an endless rope thrown out of me. Copyright © 2017 Amber Flora Thomas. Used with permission of the author. |
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