do you see the faces in the waves?
They are the faces of ancients,
their worn features carved by the
endless turmoil of the sea.
You stand at the edge of a cliff,
overlooking a beach with dark sand,
an overcast glare bouncing off the water
like an echo.
Do you see them now?
Right there, can you make out
the faces of the old men?
Their wrinkles are ripples in the tide,
white foam curves over their heads.
Their eyes extend deep to hidden reefs,
their lips rise and fall with the current.
A gull glides over the water to greet the men,
veering just close enough to catch the froth of the waves.
You make your way down to the water’s edge,
casting smooth pebbles and sea shells
across the surface.
And for a moment,
the men are gone.
The tide has taken them,
along with your skipping stones.
But be patient.
You will see them again.
Their faces in the waves will always be
there are two worlds.
dearest, like in a pharmaceutical ad
at least or was
of the world but only sometimes rock your little boat for every
stolen bicycle spin a wheel in the sky
how to get
<sip> from here ⎮sub⎮ ⎮or⎮ continent
to: and back berrily, berrily grab
a branch and pull
We are talking about who looks like
who again (although he looks most like me and I am nobody's mother yet) and why
this is a compelling argument in one child's favor.
You were lucky, I thought. You
had a trellis, a reason for rose feed, two
children, small, and time off. And this reasoning
was a linear thing, as if first travelling to Milan and then happening upon and then lining up for an
antique car show around the piazza del duomo. I suddenly wanted to say I no longer tolerate flower
parades or the infinity of bulbs. That a ferrari eats road, that
I ached to tolerate jasmine and statues that moved with the light sources, arguing with the sky. That I
had seen a man get up and carry his flayed skin home.
Jennifer Arcuni‘s writing has appeared in various mediums and literary publications, including Xantippe and Bateau. She received her MFA from Saint Mary’s College of California. She is currently a poetry editor for the journal Versal, where poems of hers have previously appeared. Originally a US east-coaster, she found herself at home in the Netherlands for many years. Jennifer now lives and writes in Northern California.