She dives under gloss of waves, tangles
in yellow webs of surface sun, stands
in waist high water. Streams of the Atlantic
drain from dazzling shoulders. When she
reaches shore, her weightless shadow
seeks balance, blinks a blinding look upward
where seagulls scratch blue marks
on a square of sky. Neck snaked up, she stares
at cumulus clouds that have shaped
into a motel room like the one last night
in which an admirer charmed her out of secrets.
No doubt, she will not see him again,
a traveling man bent on a new location.
Yet, it wasn’t a seduction. They had bargained
for each other.
Shreds of last night stick to her skin like sand
on the bottom of her feet. Tonight she will not
hang at Burman’s Bar. She will return
to watch the sea churn a broken moon,
to see the silk of evening make a safe path
of light to shore, and she will sleep satisfied
to be beyond the hunger of a man’s way.
Her door will be closed to self-serving passion.
She will lie down alone, doorway within reach
of the sea, breasts only as warm as her own breath.
My name is Sandra Feen and I am a poet and retired teacher. Unfortunately, I am sometimes technologically challenged, which was the case while rating Nikolas Macioci’s stellar work. I want to emphatically state that I issued superior ratings for each of Macioci’s poems; however, they did not come through in some cases. I kept clicking the far right star, but it did not always indicate that my click was received, and I fear that another incorrect rating was somehow rendered instead, in some cases, thus lowering Macioci’s overall score. I apologize profusely for this!
It is an understatement to declare that I am a huge fan of Macioci’s poetry! He is an absolute master at his craft, while also being accessible, and incessantly invites readers into delicious narratives and poetic forms that resonate. I daily return to Macioci’s life-affirming poetry. Even his darker work transforms hope.