Our seaside, soft brine lapping,
rushing our curves, our keels and bows.
Sun froths those tides,
warms our foam;
tides pour dark oil on our bathing skin.
Underneath the glittering waves lay
thousand-year-old luminescence. We swim into the water, ancient cold, deep down cavities,
bubbling over with Cambrian life forms.
And there, those tender-hearted whales, their eyes
like rooms which reflect the world-
they house us, sleeping.
You go on blue for a thousand miles. Your mouth, the water lapping over my limbs.
The Space Between
(Your hair balloons around your head in sleep; the static electricity of your love)
My long period of prohibition continues- but she’s a special circumstance. Spiced rum in the back room, or in the attic up high.
Let’s listen to music though the floor, dance like we do this all the time.
You’ve never been to this country. I’ve never been
to this street. Is God a feeling? A sorcerer? Or the space between you and me?
Between the hills of your distance. The attempt.
The rhythm of your dream stories may be a heart map; guiding me the right way. Not unlike the journey of Odysseus. What was it
that kept him from home? Prohibitions. Inhibitions.
Recollections and incantations. Or the gods.
Others find companionship (this camaraderie),
while I wonder what surly twists will trumpet me to your borders.
Zebib K. A. (she/her) is a writer and psychiatrist. She moved from NYC to Scotland to do a Masters in Creative Writing at University of Edinburgh. She has been published in The Rumpus, The Selkie, Counterclock Journal, Nightingale and Sparrow, and more. She is black, queer, and comes from an immigrant background, and explores these identities in her writing