Everyday, Islands Go Missing
The island is tired
of waiting
for you. You have
not found it yet,
how must that sound,
like throwing words
into the ocean, the poor
little pebbles.
Who feels bad for
the island
in the middle of the
mainland, no oceans
in sight.
Where is the island
for the farmer,
for cacti,
for those who have
never seen an ocean.
The ticket
is not the island.
Your goggles
are not the island.
The island can’t come inland.
It has to remember where
it lives,
you need to go to it,
walk on it,
a puddle of land.
Love this. I read it one way, as the words, and another way, a little later, after seeing the illustration! Wonderful both ways.
ReplyDeleteYour goggles
ReplyDeleteare not the island.
Love that line, Hannah!