The tide gargles a crab carapace, spits it back

to the wrack line. A basset hound trots over,

sniffs our towel, is scooped by an apologetic

man with tribal tattoos & shoulder hair curled

into small question marks. The sand lodged in

my ear canal is a moon-sick shore of answered

prayer. Why rest on the seventh day? The other

six have their crusty feet wedged in my peace.

Twenty years ago, a mile past what I’ve

become, my sister slipped off a skim board &

fractured her hip. It was tragic. Not the fall—

abandoning that bone dry, flawless castle moat

as she sobbed half an ocean to the ER. Is it fine

to never forgive who we must boundlessly love?

Matt Coonan is a poet, emcee & teacher from New York. He holds an MFA in creative writing and literature from Stony Brook University and is a three-time SUNY Oneonta Grand Slam Champion. He is also the recipient of a 2017 Live Mas Scholarship.