Jenny Wong
Tonight, I Do Not Love the Sea (and Questions I Ask the Shore)
Light wilts along the horizon
and there is too much noise for darkness.
The waves
are incessant
blue
bragging,
about the curved coasts
touched in a day
while this shore
waits. Here,
a tree that once nursed
along this bank
now a body
returned
stripped of its bark,
half buried and clean
as bone.
I ask
why stay
in this erosion?
why be
scraped and salted
every day –
smaller.
There is warmth
elsewhere
in the dry shimmer
of desert dunes
a place to hold the slow whisper
of vultures’ wings, away
from the pry of watery eyes
and other derivatives
of drowning by oceans.
and there is too much noise for darkness.
The waves
are incessant
blue
bragging,
about the curved coasts
touched in a day
while this shore
waits. Here,
a tree that once nursed
along this bank
now a body
returned
stripped of its bark,
half buried and clean
as bone.
I ask
why stay
in this erosion?
why be
scraped and salted
every day –
smaller.
There is warmth
elsewhere
in the dry shimmer
of desert dunes
a place to hold the slow whisper
of vultures’ wings, away
from the pry of watery eyes
and other derivatives
of drowning by oceans.
Biography
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Jenny Wong is a writer, traveler, and occasional business analyst. Her favorite places to wander are Tokyo alleys, Singapore hawker centers, and Parisian cemeteries. Recent publications include Acropolis Journal, Five Minutes, and Tiny Molecules. She resides in Canada near the Rocky Mountains and tweets @jenwithwords.
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