September 26, 2014

Watching the Sun Drop by Ricki Mandeville

We come to pass the last half hour of day,
to watch the sun drop down into the sea. 
 
It is the silence that heals us
here on the high ground above 
the Pacific—not silence really, but
an absence of the usual noises:
              a child shouting to another
         a dog barking      
              something falling
 
not silence really, but the white noise
of wind off the ocean as it skims our ears,
strips anger from us like silk, 
whisks it inland as a kaleidoscope 
of clouds writes our treaty 
in orange neon across the horizon
then dissipates, leaves a single
              scatter of cirrus to hold
         sun’s last red lip print
               like a tissue.
 
We come to pass the last half hour of day,
to watch the sun drop down into the sea.
              Did I say we?
         I meant me.
 





Ricki Mandeville’s poems have recently appeared in Comstock Review, San Pedro River Review, Pea River Journal, Texas Poetry Calendar 2014 & 15, and other journals and anthologies. She is a cofounder and consulting editor of Moon Tide Press and the author of A Thin Strand of Lights (Moon Tide Press). A speaker for various literary events, she lives in Huntington Beach, California.
 

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