Sahara by Cassie Lipton
One day, my body
will not remember it’s anger
the way the Sahara
does not remember
it was once ocean.
One day, the seasickness
will become less violent,
the waves less treacherous,
as drop by drop you drain
from the space I’ve left open.
One day, I will step out
and the water will be ankle-deep.
Your memory is sea salt
on my face and in my hair
but drawing is no danger
One day, I will lay on the damp
sand, soft and pliable
and build castles of everything
I have become without you,
when I’ve washed away my anger.
And in a thousand years,
I will lie on the dunes
and feel the dry heat on my back
and it will be
as if you were
nothing.