Poetry by Faye Armistead

I close my eyes and drift like a cosmonaut, 
reaching out to touch the moon as I saw it in a magazine,
pale and smooth. Or the float on a fisherman’s net. Another lost remnant.
O great Pacific, I’ve slipped too far. 
Ah, wrong ocean. Wrong problem left unsolved
and no, I’m not the one calling but… if I ever was yours, pull me home. 
Drag me if you have to.

And then I’m wading through hostility in the museum hall, 
wondering if my visa will expire before I’ve said I’m sorry and goodbye.
Is it enough to whisper I know what you’re doing, love
I heard what you tried to say

But, of course, we already know how this ends
death: an abstraction
memory, a ploy for gods and heroes 
and not everything gone
is gone forever,
but what the sea keeps,
the sea keeps

Faye Armitstead is originally from the Pacific Northwest and has recently returned there after a decade spent teaching writing and English abroad.

Photo by Kristin Snippe on Unsplash