far away sea

wind so cold I wrap my cardigan tight     fasten the toggles on my coat

further on              

a boy picks up string and seaweed     rocks and tin cans turns them over in his fingers     reading them     spinning and twirling them     inspecting them     his eyes searching for the next one

always five steps behind     a girl chases him     

wind blowing hair into her face     scarf loosening and twist-curving down the beach     turquoise and green     billowing away   as if it too is chasing something  

boy chasing carrier bags chasing a scarf chasing a girl chasing a boy chasing invisible things

my feet stamp footprints into the beach     the sea

fills them with brown sand lakes

Painting Natasha

When I close my eyes the brush is a violin bow, the space between us four sides of a canvas. I am painting you and wait for you to be still, hold you in arms filled with oil-stained sable brushes.

We are part of a juniper tree, the berries are whores, the leaves are blankets and we are one branch next to another. Call me sister, you say and we rest our backs against a skyless floor.

Eight years I was here, you tell me. Don’t paint the scratches on my arms or my oil-slick eyes. Paint me as I should have been.

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