Elegy
Popham in October
The beach is quieter now. Summer has slipped away like a gull lifting off without a sound. Only the steady pulse of the Atlantic remains, a heartbeat older than anything I know. I sit where the tide curls in, letting the cold sand hold me like an old friend.
By Syl De'Vil4 days ago in Poets
October Breakwater
October is a breakwater you step onto, slick stone and salt breath rising from the Atlantic’s throat. The air tastes like cold pine and the ghosts of summer bonfires. The tide pulls back, revealing the long ribs of the sandbar— a road the ocean only allows for part of the day.
By Syl De'Vil4 days ago in Poets
Just Minutes Before
And maybe I’m reading into it, I tell myself it’s burnt a little then eat it anyway ‘cause I’m hungry. If I knew all the words for touching my hands would be free for feeling, touching all the words I can't reveal, my hands would be free of feeling. But here I am on the top step feeling, topless, feeling speechless feeling numb feeling, topless feeling—folded over feeling sun feeling my head hoovering— folded over no feelings feeling no words feeling my head hovering inches above the concrete feeling no feeling.
By Gerry Thibeault6 days ago in Poets
