This letter mostly recounts my time in Cuba in August 2023, it is a mix of poetry, medium format film photos by me, iPhone pix, diary entries from that time (dated), and recent reflections weaved in.
The mist leaves the taste of salt on your lips,
the ocean roars like a lion,
swallowing the remnants of life
we call sand,
with no relief.
It’s cosmic belly churns for the sun dried shells of it’s
children, the exhausted coral it has lost in it’s vast womb.
You walk along the edge of the cliff, wishing you could grow gills,
wishing you could turn back,
you humble yourself on your hands and
knees and pray to the breaking wave,
“Remind me of my insignificance.
Remind me of my rarity.
Let me see how much effort it took to arrive here.
Let me see how rare existence truly is”.
The shade of a redwood gives you relief as
you walk through the totality of incarnation.
You know you must find your feet again.
The ocean continues chasing what it lost,
what it will create again.
You trace the same pulse to the center of your belly
and hold it until the sun sets on the horizon.
in response to Neither Poetry workshop writing prompt, July 30th 2023.
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