A Wave is a Wave
I have a bad habit of turning a book on its back
of skipping to the ash heap
the lung-flood
the salt-scorch ending
A page hisses slow as a tide’s inhale
and the wait for the crash is nauseous
but we spent the summer trailing our footprints with abandon
through the sand painting our soles coarse
through the ocean’s epileptic mouth foam through the water
where they disappeared traceless
where lungs tight with air I winced
at every wave ready to nestle at my shoulders
and seep into our palms clam-shelled
where hair heavy and eyes wide
and droplets dangling off our lashes
our heads came up after every last one
where you showed me sometimes
a wave is a wave is a wave
and I’m glad I’m still turning your pages
Choiselle Joseph is a writer from Barbados. Her recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Heavy Feather Review, PREE, petrichor, Rust & Moth, Gone Lawn, and elsewhere. Her current project is Hummingbird, an in-progress chapbook exploring daughterhood through myth and surreal imagery. They are an editor at The Saartjie Journal. Find them on Instagram @_choiselle_.