a buoy
its barnacles
its rusted clasp
frayed rope
my underwater thoughts
muffled
audible
like the walkie-talkie vents he and I spoke through
at the make-shift drive-in
the plastic cars we drove
once upon a time
and now my arm pulling
grasping through darkness
my brother
brackish
white caps
a distant island.
Click here to read Christine Jones on the origin of the poem.
Image: photo by Federica Giusti on Unsplash , licensed under CC 2.0.
Christine Jones lives in Orleans, MA and is the author of Now Calls Me Daughter (Nixes Mate Review, 2022) and Girl Without a Shirt (Finishing Line Press, 2020), also co-editor of the anthology, Voices Amidst the Virus: Poets Respond to the Pandemic (Lily Poetry Review Books, 2020). She is the founder/editor-in-chief of Poems2go and associate editor of Lily Poetry Review. Her poetry can be found in numerous journals and anthologies in print and online.
Latest posts by Christine Jones (see all)
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