The Fifth of August

poems from the north, day 2

Photo by Will Langenberg, on Unsplash

The golden locust is hushed
by a mockingbird, who chews
him thoughtfully

before debating
the weather

with another who’s louder
in an argument
for argument’s sake.

Today isn’t moving
any slower. I sit on
memories

of an oval table
seated with ghosts
who’ve been ‘round before.

A forced answer
is trapped in the net
of my throat.

I blow it back out
to sea and lean against
a pillar by the shore

to see how long it takes
before it, too, turns to sand.

I’m done chasing
anything into being
what it’s not.

I’m merely waiting
to see what washes
up next.

Follow my vacation journey, more below:

The Fourth of August