The Gulf of Maine
is too cold to be heartbreaking,
but contains within it
a kind of dreadful dreamscape,
impossible to access
all the years my friend lived
in her lobster town. When
we finally got interested in the Atlantic,
every night changed.
My wish to be naked expanded
like a flower and my will
diminished. A nightmare is nothing
to fear, but a dream foretells
the end of something. According
to scientists, galaxies do not move
through space but rather with space
as it expands. How infuriating
to arrive at original thought
through theory. One should arrive
anywhere through nautical imagery.
Water triggers my desire
for violence, my inability
to remain calm for even a single
second. Lo, the death skiff is calling.
Let us leave this all behind.
Mari Pack is a writer living outside Philly. Her poems have been published in Poetry International, Brooklyn Poets, and Pigeon Pages. She was nominated for a 2024 Best of the Net.
Wind and Waves
Just as the wind leaves
No scar
On the river
So too do you stir me
With your touch.
Just like the wind and the waves
All night
We turn and touch
And rise and touch
And in the morning
We meet again.
Buku Sarkar is a Calcutta/NY and Paris based writer and photographer. Her first book, Not Quite a Disaster After All, is forthcoming in the U.S. this fall. Her first collection of poems, My Dead Flowers, will be out in December.