The ocean smacks
melted snow now,
in the banks
of another harbor.
How everything
touches, basks
in the moment
of meeting.
Vapor, onto window,
absorbing old heat,
vinyl bus seats,
with sweat
contacting
naked legs.
The perspiration
denies the weather,
refuses to freeze,
so it thaws.
It is already dark
out but I refuse
to crawl
into the bus
seat and drain
my body out
with fatigue,
like the rain
does before
it evaporates.
Instead, I get out,
stand in drizzle,
turn my head
upwards. The bus
glints off, glass
turns to glaze
in declining light
and then I think of ice,
skates, how I want to
run over clear rink,
coast upwards,
like when tires meet
soft cement for
the first time,
when snow meets
bank to form glacier,
when sails reach
to touch harbor,
when feet meet
to dig into
icy precision.
Coast
Clayre Benzadón received her MFA at University of Miami. She is a Split Lip Magazine poetry reader. Her chapbook, “Liminal Zenith” was published by SurVision Books. Her full-length collection, “Moon as Salted Lemon” was a finalist for the 2021 Robert Dana-Anhinga Poetry Prize and Semifinalist for Sundress Publications’ Open Reading Period. She has been published in places including 14poems, SWWIM, and Fairy Tale Review. Find more about her at clayrebenzadon.com.