Sheffield Island
Olivia Bell
I’m landlocked. You’re out on Sheffield Island
at the edge of the Atlantic. Don’t know what I want
but I need it so bad. I can’t ever go back to normal
with you, because now we live in a world where we kissed
in your parent’s bedroom, where I had dinner with them
the next night, made the pound cake and whipped the cream
myself. Talked to your dad about my turmeric farm. When he
used to fly to India airport security would take the shoes
right out of the checked luggage. Just wanted something between
soles and the ground. I planted your mom’s garden, you made me
a ring from wood. I want to go grocery shopping with you
30,000 times. I want cherry tomatoes, everywhere. I want
to make a two hour drive last five, hear you laugh in your sleep,
miss the exit in the pouring rain. Trying to tell you how I feel
is like trying to put the ocean during tuna season inside a
water bottle. From this great distance my heart is alight for you.
We might be going forward. No one is going back.