By the Shore
By Christian Martinez
Frosty winds and autumn’s sins
The future that met my heart’s shore
Village stilts and thistle wilts
Hurricane wounds and broken moons I bore.
My world was shattered
Uprooted oaks, the frog of fear croaks,
The village wreckage, torn and battered,
Thistle wilts thrived to guilts –
And my sea of will rested restlessly,
Shipwrecked in a dichotomous state,
Feeling bitter and terror and naïvety,
As much as mature, secure, and equate.
Tide pools and tattered gules
The sea still hugs the shore
Picking through driftwood, where village stood
I will love forevermore.
The Trinity Review 