“He may thwart our escape by land or sea”
he said “but the sky is surely open to us” —Ovid
We have journeyed in silence
parchment stitched on sleeves
or pressed into hopeful chests.
We find ourselves, here
washed up on this island.
The sun rises deliberately.
Its diligent urging reminds us
we are not here by our own volition.
This is a collective work
and we each gather the stones
lodged in our bellies, stuck in our shoes
to build an altar.
We sing and sail on a surf of laughter
linger like new lovers
around this bonfire of broken limbs
and watch as the embers rise
on this shoreless land
we gather, driftwood
fashion ourselves into kites.
To The Woman He Married
Do you think he loves you?
Or is the air between you webbed and static
Does your name tumble like roses from his lips
Or does it drop like dough in your lap
Is the air between you taut and conspiring
Does the slam forget to answer the door
Are the walls gummy and dense like dough in your lap
Do you know the name tattooed behind his ear
Does the slam forget, does the door, does he
Does his mouth taste like roses or a tumble of thorns
Did you hear him whisper my name in your ear
Do you really think he loves you?
Simone Leid is a Trinidad and Tobago national and fellow of the Cropper Foundation Creative Writers Workshop. She has had poems published in tongues of the ocean, WomanSpeak Journal, and Writethis.com. She was shortlisted in the poetry category of the 2010 Small Axe Literary Competition.