Gales like whipped up egg whites
flouncing along this flattened island, the Sea
now rancid and unwrapped like frantic unpacking 
panic in the uprising 

I steady myself against the ceramic
. . . . fingers tracing tiny edges of cracks
. . . . . . that grow with every pulse of wave.

Darkness dances against wave crests 
which bulge horrendously, lurching and 
vomiting against me. My hair splatters
my arms in wide dribbling shadows. 

— Rock steady — 

I follow my hand alongside the ceramic 
– – bending as it bends, shivering as the waves
– – – – shiver. The cracks are wider now and sharp 
– – – – – – in places—my blood slows. It’s dark in here, the 
– – – – – – – – sun hidden by gulps of wind and fragments
– – – – – – – – of ceramic cracks eating my hand whole 
– – – – – – birthday-cake style. Man, it’s dark and moody now 
– – – – the waves bellow against my thighs, but I can just make out 
– – the silver spoon, which spins and spins and howls 
underneath the hand that stirs the storm. 


Rozell, 2022

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