Vista

"Wherever I turn, wherever I look..."
~ C.P. Cavafy


It rains every afternoon now. Then flash
floods at intersections. Parked cars can float

away on just three inches of water. The middle
of the underpass on Colley Avenue fills up

like a stoppered sink before it slowly drains.
Meanwhile the sea isn't concerned about bottled

water or bread and eggs, or clean sentences
that will hopefully withstand the test

of time. Can language, can the words I am
always trying to pour into a poem lie down

with someone and whisper in her ear
it's alright, I'll always take care

of you? Though nothing we do will ever
be enough, we take coolers with sandwiches

and a checkered blanket to the beach.
We let the children run into the foam,

then pack wet sand into plastic pails. Four
molds connected by walls can make a fortress.

One of the turrets is a lookout, like those
with a narrow spiral staircase you could climb

to get to the top. From there, turning around,
sky so bright, you'd think the world went on and on.




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