The fog curls into my hair
the day we cast the calla lilies out to sea
their milky bodies shepherded by mother leopard sharks,
swamp salt plants set to sleep in the cradle of the waves.
I walk my robes into the ocean,
divinity and the deep punctuated by pebbles.
I think of my return to this land as ritual
the seawall graffitied with the words
this place is sacred space.
My people planted calla lilies between
the groves of the Eucalyptus trees
their roots growing through the cliffs
our silent request for sanctuary.
The calla lilies have turned the white of each wave break,
my eyes are seafoam,
I know home is the low tide of my soul,
where sea urchins forget my sins
and castaway flowers return to shore.
Hannah Yerington is a poet, a Jewish Arts educator, and the director of the Bolinas Poetry Camp for Girls. Her work has been published in Nixes Mates, Alma, and Olney, among others. She is an MFA candidate at Bowling Green State University. She writes about many things including talking flowers, post-memory, and the occasional seal.
photo by Jocelyn Morales and Conor Sexton (via unsplash)