Poetry Summer 2020

Types of Still

by Alexandra Crew

Head resting on my left arm,
the sun pales the graphite sky,
the ocean begins to gleam.

I roll to the right, my arm
scraping sheets chilled 
like an ocean too low
in temperature to sustain life.

I return to face the ocean,
sit cross-legged on the gray floor,
and light incense pulled
from beneath the bed.

Eyes closed, palms up on knees,
I breathe. Meditation smoothing
the surface of my mind to mirror
the ocean, silver and sublime.

Bells chime, returning me
to my body, my morning. 
I call Keira’s name.
Claws click and echo
off dawn-lit family portraits
still waiting to be warmed

by the missing, matching bodies:

daughters and a husband


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