by chloe viner
The sea grass grows on the edge of the
evergreens supporting the water
like when I was four and sat on
my fathers shoulders,
the strength and magic that is their roots
supports the whole marsh
and all those children.
Humpback whales turn south from the sea
whispering to one another about
oil spills.
Propelling themselves sternly to
find shelter by
starboard and stern
where sails give directions that are so
The fisherman starve
and the irony oils up on their shoes
like last call at a bar
when the urgency fades away
and they realize they are completely alone.
the sun sets and
the yellow light dissipates in the water
magnifying the toxins
shadows that emphasize and exaggerate.
Bodies of sea turtles strew on the shore
like litter after a parade
clogs up the streets
but there is no sweeping away
this Waste
So we hope
that the memory of the marsh
and our fathers shoulders
is enough to propel us towards

0 thoughts on “oil

  1. whoa i totally love this. the one line that stuck out like a glowing neon vegas billboard was the single ‘Alien.’ This particularly set my nerve endings a’tingle. gracefully put metaphors and flowing down my arteries like little kayaks in venice (how i imagined venice maybe fifteen years ago). thanx for sharing.

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