Poem for the Islanders We’ve Prematurely Lost This Year
By Jordan Wallace
I keep hearing, There aren’t words,”
and that’s true.
But the interior life is real, and there
we’ll keep having conversations with you.
Conversations like:
There was a night in July, and it was like the first and last night of the world,
before atmosphere. Just a walk in the moonlight down paths of glowing mercury,
over the crest of the dune and into the basin of light from on high. Do you remember?
Our best friends were there, lit up in the pockets of the beach fires, next to Great Rock,
covered in rivulets of phosphorescence. Staring at one another and smiling.
Yes. There aren’t words. That’s true.
But there’s an island. There we’ll meet.
In memories,
basking in the glow of everyone we ever knew.
Jordan Wallace is an island poet.
Poets with a connection to Martha’s Vineyard are encouraged to submit poems to allison@mvtimes.com. Please include a two- to three-sentence bio.