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Ocean's Slow Reply
I have died by the side of the ocean,
and die there still: a lulled, languorous,
steaming foam-crest whirling from my lips,
cruelly curled like a jagged shell’s lips.
In what fossil-like state that I’ve slept,
which, wrangling tides and unwinding winds
change with every blow:
leave me wrecked on sure sand,
bleached in light, so harsh and empty-hearted
like a dim ripple on the pebbled rim.
Red Kayak
Cracked in river rapids, wrapped
with duct tape and plastic,
a twisting trunk, a trout
caught in a bear’s mouth, an oar
both smaller and bigger, a red
spot on the river gone.
Emmanuel Agrapidis A native New Yorker, Emmanuel Agrapidis spends his time looking
under his boot soles. He has been published in several journals and works as a field reporter
in New York City. Emmanuel received his B.A. in Literature and Writing from Columbia University.
His highly anticipated full length collection entitled Devour the Earth is set to come out later
this year.
Email: Emmanuel Agrapidis
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