By Renee Agatep
I used to find your face, 23
on every beach in Jacksonville, I’ve seen
you in Tampa Bay, and once
in Tarpon Springs I craned my neck
from my beach towel,
in the shadow
of my husband, a great southern
live oak,
from where I live in the hollow
I saw you today
in the Bay of Funchal
4000 miles from where I left you
now just 100 meters
off the discordant coastline
commanding a windsail
facing the mast, uphauling the sail
this is how we remain:
you in the immortal surf
and me, evergreen, a scion
breaking and breaking again
This poem originally appeared in Volume 14, Issue 2 of San Pedro River Review.
Photo by Adrian Dascal on Unsplash
Renee Agatep 