Poetry – “The Masses”



The Masses // by Jennifer Patino


When we are broken and

breaking waves make debris

of our already shipwrecked selves,

we’ll grip any shore,

we’ll feel our cold fingers





Every sense of a solid foundation

has the strength to suck us into it


Sometimes we just need out

of the poisonous sea,

to return to dry land,

rest our fighting feet


We try to stay, stay grounded,

stay covered in blankets of


                                              (because dead life is pretty)


The roar of the swell calls,

summons, insists on us being



The call of the colossal

crashing digs into our skin

like our bed of sea urchin

needles, like the smell of

salt among deep aridity, the hope

of newness after miles

of plunging sand


Before the last of our bones

become driftwood, we linger

between the light of the rare

sunshine and hours and hours

of midnight blue and we





The bottom of this body of

antiquity is where you learn

to finally breathe




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