Low Tide
Ocean
crashes through my blood,
undertow of memories
vein to ventricle,
my tongue reaches
to lick its salt
from my lips,
searching for a taste
that’s disappeared.
In solitude
I imagine banquets of sunshine
steaming off our heads,
a liquid sunset
of pink lemonade
bronze hides,
languages duelling
for a dominant spot
on a bed of sand.
From all the places
I’ve tried to make home,
here I prepare for
a family meal
arroz con pollo,
a table set,
searching for a reflection
on untouched plates
in a sundress with a mochila
of a youth that once was.
Ocean
I try to swim back,
in a diaspora riptide
and start to panic.
From land, you run fingers through wet hair
offering:
“The current has changed,
try treading water and
let nature take its course.”
Pneuma*
Then
the sky was easy to imbibe…
a sip now
another later…
a big swallow
always enough
inhaling the air
was a given
swilling clouds
around an eager tongue
down the throat
filled with guile
as if an endless reservoir
a communal place
suddenly polluted
taking for granted
that which was never seen.
*Ancient Greek for breath, air; in a religious context “spirit or “soul”
TAK Erzinger is an American/Swiss poet and artist with a Colombian background. Her poetry and personal essays have been featured in Mojave He[art] Review, Cirrus Poetry Review, The Beautiful Space Journal, The Curlew, The Rising Phoenix Review, I-70 Review, The Avocet, The Woolf Magazine and more. Her debut poetry collection entitled, Found: Between the Trees (Grey Borders Books 2019) is currently available. Most recently, she was selected as one of the four finalists under the category of poetry for The Eyelands Book Awards.
She lives in a Swiss valley with her husband and cats.