Lisa Wamsley, Issue 17.2



That was the summer I learned to sail

best pit bitch on the Bay

trim the jib, ease the cunningham

racing fierce in a 20 foot boat


I learned to tie a bowline

a clove hitch

a half hitch

knotted from the inside out


My undiscovered gift was reading the wind

seeing it travel

counting down the seconds until it touched my skin

lifted the sail


Dark water, rippling

stippling the tops of waves

cat’s paws and

unexpected shifts


I watched it come


It was the summer of your black eye

Your second affair

my blind eye

back turned on self respect


Civilized conversation with the mistress

on her couch

discussing you like she had a right

like she was a person, too


Not just the masthead

on our sinking ship


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