Cape Cod
Jun 23rd, 2010 | By Alli Martel | Category: Poetry | 605 viewsOne day I will awaken
to the apocalypse,
the scent of brimstone
mixed into that of the brine
seeping from the bay.
You will know it, too,
before you can smell it:
your hands will become shells
no longer capable of loving
or of being loved.
Why are the gulls so quiet?
I’ll ask as they circle the shore
in search of the stench
they will not find;
the sea will lap the shore
like my tongue once lapped
against the beach of your skin.
Too soon we will wonder
why the city seems so far,
though it is only miles away;
why we insisted on living
so close to the ocean,
which has obscured so much
and smells so foul.
|
About Alli Martel: Alli Martel is currently completing graduate school applications in hopes of earning a degree in library science. In the meantime, she spends her days writing poetry on post-it notes while processing auto insurance policies. She lives in Massachusetts with her long-time boyfriend, a highly neurotic cat, and a modest collection of Asian ball-jointed dolls. This is her first publication. |
©2009 Alli Martel All Rights Reserved
