passage

for years I wanted
to be an island. meaning

deserted can be
sacred, not always

barren, treasures
untouched.

with needing
as my compass, like

clarice. throwing
dogma overboard.

for humans can live
on an island

only by forgetting what
an island represents.

—

then imagine:
bodies on the shoreline

opposite, but
instead of sea

it’s driveway. my
mother and father

waving goodbye and
no, they will never

not do it. meaning
there’s always time

to stand beneath
the pepper tree, watch

my car spilling
down the pavement.

—

to sail away, or
decathect. and how their

loving gaze renders
this impossible.

less island, more
peninsula. not a cavern

but a sprawl.
arms swaying till I clip out

of view. meaning
all we are is

friction, water lapping.
a salty, wet present

where I can be
both self and daughter.

Read more from Issue No. 31 or share on Twitter.