Kris Guay

must be nice
to be always leaving in your mind
another westward expansion
another million miles
like geese in late autumn stretching onward
advancing silent into open cobalt sky

write me lines on a postcard when you get there
about how the surf rolls up against the shoreline
releasing tiny bubbles that drain away
suddenly, one at a time
this is the motion that you long for
this pulling you back, dissolving
beginning at the beginning again
an endless loop of starting over

but wait—tell me also
how the sun shines on glass-top water
softened by the coming dusk
while undulations rock you gently as a gull
lolling on swells that tip at the horizon
I’d like to know about your sunlit journey
for unlike you, I’ll still be here
scraping my fingers through crystals on the window
peering out at long blue shadows
as the wind sails brown leaves along the surface of the snow
skittering sideways, like ancient crabs

Kris Guay earned her BFA in film from Massachusetts College of Art, and her ALM in English and American Literature and Language from Harvard University Extension School, where she was awarded the 2005 Dean’s Thesis Prize in the Humanities. She writes a blog called “Life with Teenagers” and is working on her first novel.