Sejal Ghia

Poets biography

Marin Headlands

 

 

Back from the guided meditation,

my friend dumps her still

matcha tea

after a long moment

of agony: “does the cup go

into compost, recycle or trash?”

 

I look out the window,

at the waves

crashing

on the rocks,

crushing

the Sisyphean surfers

in their thoroughly wet suits.

My heart swells as one rides

 

 

 

a beast of a wave.

 

 

I draw

my eye

back to my

 

 

 

beast of a mind,

 

 

ride it

with my breath.

 

 

After dinner, we roast

our first s’mores,

scout for a smokeless spot

to warm our Birkenstocked feet

and watch the

bonfire

break

into

fireflies.