On This Post-Election Shore, 2024

Today, election results run, a river
of grief for another river that never
became a wave. Tomorrow, perhaps
a collapse we never imagined:
a bridge, a body, a body
politic, the world.

Still, the tide comes & goes.
As I stand in the sand, the under-
tow pulls my heels, dragging
me insistently deeper. These
returns can suck folks
in beyond their depth, so I know not
to wade further into turbulence,
into a world half-eaten, equal parts
hoorays & handkerchiefs.

A rip tide of hope will buoy
a body long enough to be pulled
into an ocean of despair. So let’s
stand on the strand, where hot
sand & cold sea meet, respecting
that death is death whether we
suffocate or drown, burn or freeze.

Every day is a day on some
beach. This doesn’t have to be
our Normandy. Blue skies, red tides
change. The undertow is just
the immensity reclaiming itself,
& fear – just one wave
resisting.

Marya Summers is a disabled poet who lives unhoused with her cat Perceval as a result of environmental illness. A 2023 Lighthouse Writers New Voices Fellow and former Poet-in-Residence at Palm Beach Institute of Contemporary Art, her work has appeared in Pleiades: Literature in Context, Tiferet Journal, Pensive Journal, Rise Up Review, Kaleidoscope Magazine, Braided Way & many anthologies. Find her at whollycreative.com. Read other articles by Marya.