Maybe We Walked

Maybe I walked by the ocean.

I remember an endless, shifting surface,

and the sun’s red juice flashing

right through me, scalp to fingers to toes.

The ocean leaped and purred,

lustrous, a vast cat wanting to be petted.

Maybe you walked through your house.

Gaps in walls, windows and doors unbuilt,

and all the time, looking at things

that didn’t exist yet, you were listening

to the voice of the little river at the back door.

The cold air pulled you outside,

thousands of red leaves licked your face,

and leaping trees begged you for a walk.

Maybe what happened will again.

The ocean escapes out the back door,

bare rooms exchange secrets

with seductive autumn clouds,

maples sniff the wild red sunset

the wind carries, and a white wolf slips

into the bedroom on your heels.

***

Mary Elizabeth Birnbaum was born, raised, and educated in New York City. She has studied poetry at the Joiner Institute in UMass, Boston. Mary’s translation of the Haitian poet Felix Morisseau-Leroy has been published in The Massachusetts Review, the anthology Into English (Graywolf Press), and in And There Will Be Singing, An Anthology of International Writing by The Massachusetts Review, 2019 as well. Her work is forthcoming or has recently appeared in Lake Effect, J-Journal, Spoon River Poetry Review, Soundings East, and Barrow Street.