Oceans

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.

Oceans

I 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.

 

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