Returning to Jamaica Pond
On this cool day, sunlight
hides behind frayed clouds that
light turns translucent. Dank, green-
brown scent does not rise
After stepping off the outbound
trolley swaying into the future,
without stopping, without looking,
without reflecting. I reflect now.
Pausing for breath, I look
out to Turtle Island’s rock
sprawls. This island is shrinking.
Rising waters will conceal it
long before the ocean covers
this growing city, my grave,
this shrinking grave, my city.
The Northbound Train Passes Through
Looking out at New London, Connecticut
she realizes that all the ocean
she sees is from the window
of a northbound train. Soon she’ll
ignore glimpses of ocean to read
an e-book about nature, some place
she cannot take this citybound train
to. The prairyerth of Kansas and
the Missouri River become exotic reading
on Kindle. She thinks about traveling south
to see Miami’s flooding. She understands
that, if she lives long enough,
this track will be gone, flooded
over by acidic ocean pushing her
miles inland behind hills, dying trees,
the bus route north. An ancient,
she’ll try to remember New London,
this view, this stretch of ocean,
this untouchable land beyond that she
now sees from this Boston-bound train.
Marianne Szlyk lives in the Washington, DC suburbs without a car and likes to walk in the city, so the name of this press appeals to her. Flutter Press recently published her second chapbook, I Dream of Empathy, and her first chapbook, Listening to Electric Cambodia, Looking at Trees of Heaven, is available at this site: http://barometricpressures.blogspot.com/2014/10/listening-to-electric-cambodia-looking.html . She is working on a third chapbook. In addition, she edits The Song Is…, a blog-zine devoted to work inspired by music: http://thesongis.blogspot.com/ and hopes that you will send poems, artwork, and even flash fiction there!