• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 02
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Midweek on the Coast

Silver and white
Lay claim to day, greystreaming
Light as much as the next blue sky.

We see you speaking to cliffside,
Break of five in the morning,
Constellations fading on your hair—

Your blouse a bare, visible flag of death,
Flaring like a smile wide, billowing away from us.
Tell us which direction your head is honing in on:

Back to us, God in the sea reflections
There in the rocks, a deity’s mouth
In years of eroded solids?

Or are you waving our way, barefoot,
A friendly hey between dawn
And school hours? Apt, on a Wednesday for physics.

This is where your sister began
Her fear of craggy beach landscapes far afield.
We laid squat candles on cardboard boats.

Watched them go to you, never
Once a “RETURN TO SENDER”. Peaceful—
Just how we closed-eyed envisioned your face.

Die properly, in far escape from the study of light’s reflection
On planar surfaces. Seep away into the breeze beneath a seagull,
Take your last stare at all extant embers of earthly infatuation.


Midweek on the Coast

Choose a side: alam barzah was taught
To us all, and no lesson mentioned the graves’ world
Giving you the shore as the ghost of a quiet, young body.

We only came here to kiss (be kind) and not
To forget your determined arms in puce gales
(As if oceans will ever cease terror).

Nor your eyes devouring a willing page
They could finally eat after so much travel.
Six o’clock sharp, we must return home

And help our families warm a rice breakfast.
He’ll leave you his shoes to help you run.
I’ll write your name in sand by the tide pool.