Opus
i. I miss the breeze, Southern California’s June.
The time in between, practicing stillness.
Tiny apples dangling from trees,
chip-toothed smiles, suddenly
unclouded. Otis Redding’s croon: Eddie says
The time in between, practicing stillness.
Tiny apples dangling from trees,
chip-toothed smiles, suddenly
unclouded. Otis Redding’s croon: Eddie says
this song feels warm, like soup.
Once the sun sets, it’s frayed sweatshirts,
Marlboros, plastic patio chairs. We talk
about who we used to be, ghosts
with beating hearts.
Once the sun sets, it’s frayed sweatshirts,
Marlboros, plastic patio chairs. We talk
about who we used to be, ghosts
with beating hearts.
ii. Diving under the Pacific’s sharp punches,
ocean neck-high, dancing with the shifting
bottom. Amelia says there’s no time to float,
besides the sun’s so bright, this morning’s sky
open and cloudless. We stay vigilant
for waves, shoot under before they crest.
We’re further out than everyone, believing
we’re invincible again. Knocked back
down to humility by evening, tearing open
stubborn leaves to sigh as we finger-paint
goo on each other’s burnt backs.
Claire E Scott is a poetry candidate in the University of Arkansas’s MFA Program in Creative Writing & Translation. She has poems published or forthcoming in BOOTH, Hobart, West Trade Review, and others. Claire serves as Poetry Editor for the Arkansas International and is on Nimrod International Journal’s editorial board. A native Arkansan, she adores her cat Garfield and does stand-up comedy. Instagram: @coffee.claire & Twitter/x: @bleachedclaire
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