Sins Poem by Jenny Kalahar

A sea-clothed earth,
brushing wet gray,
offering some forgotten emotion
through scent and touch,
fathomless,
seeming grayer still as it swirls into memory.

Stranger than a reminder,
nearly forcing me to fall
into the dark and gray and wet,
and I can't forget what happened
in that moment brought back from the farther shore.

Flow of staircase,
wood sharp-edged and golden,
inviting the sea to climb one step at a time—
a clock for the rising tide,
water centemetering higher,
with stars glinting in its every ripple,

and I am standing halfway up the staircase, watching,
breathing in the dank green weed and murk,
not knowing, when the water rises to my chin,
if I will float or drown,
my feet held fast by what I've done.

I look to the night tree overhead
and see glints of moonlight
blinking through the ruffling leaves,
imagining judgmental eyes
waiting to see—as am I—
if the sea-clothed earth
will drag me under
or forgive my now-remembered sins.