It’s that time again to publish a poem of mine. This poem comes from the inaugural Spring 2014 issue of Isthmus, a literary review. This may just be my biased opinion, but I think the issue is excellent, with strong poetry and prose. You can purchase the journal HERE.
OceansI get out of bed this morning to find oceans falling outside, tiny ones, smaller than my pinky nail but still containing all the world inside them, or so they say. In this weather, I keep putting things together and sending them off, typed and binder-clipped, and all I can hope is that they get where they’re going before they all fall apart again and I disappear from the pages. Today, though, I’m sending nothing into the world, not even myself. I won’t venture out beneath the water shooting down like a tiny tragic Daedalus a million times over. Today, I’ll stay inside and make my apartment a mirror of all that water: open the windows and invite the rain in and pour a thousand cups of tea. Drink up, I’ll tell the rain, it’s only getting colder out there. I’ll draw a bath a leave the faucet on until the water’s sliding across the floor and soaking into the carpet, and when I’ve drenched the whole place and have my own little sea, I’ll lie face-up in the waves between the couch and the TV and drift for a while, bobbing in the ocean I’ve made. I’ll hold onto my books, floating like buoys, and realize they’ve always been my buoys, in this ocean and all the other ones, too.