T. says she’s frustrated. The clouds have been too much,
and the sky. She says she never sees the peacock,
though he calls. Tomorrow we will place
the rust colored stones in the jar.
We will haul something new up from the beach:
a bleached log, lobster buoy faded from the sun,
net and wire. It will be home soon,

this place I share without you. A reaping tide:
fish bones, a turtle’s painted shell,
rotting out from the inside. I’ve buried it
by the garden wall, for the earthworms.

Still the sea, like fire, rolls its stones.

###

A desert rat for most of her life, Marianne Botos lives in historic central Phoenix with her sweetheart and their animal menagerie on their urban farm. She is an ASU MFA alum and Arizona Commission on the Arts Creative Writing Fellowship recipient with poetry publications in literary journals, interactive art exhibits, and once a tree. She teaches creative writing and literature at Paradise Valley Community College.

“BLOCK ISLAND: THE FIRST VISITOR” originally appeared in HOOT online, Issue 26, December 2013.