how many journeys can you make

around one island?

all there is to do is skim the surface,

never put feet onto land.

to let your bare skin touch the sand

is to shatter decades of expectations.

 

there was a time i did not know this land existed.

it was deliberately erased off maps,

as if that would make the sand

and the stone and the quiet homes

built along its mountaintops

cease to exist.

 

and when the clouds no longer hid

the jagged line of the island’s horizon and

those who wrote history had no choice

but to correct their records,

they told stories of its inhabitants. rumors

of sharp hooves for feet and coarse fur

covering skin. careful—

 

one touch and there’s no escaping

the poison on their fingertips.

 

despite all their efforts, this island still calls to you.

 

you may smell the salt air of its shores on

your morning walk to class.

 

you may hear sappho’s voice among rustling of leaves

in your dreams, whispering forbidden stanzas.

 

you may see it in the eyes of a woman on the street

and wonder why your heart is left racing.

 

the longer you’re alive, the more you notice it

within the fine details of your days.

you’ll spend more time looking in the mirror

checking for abnormalities. abominations.

it lingers in your life like the mole

behind your ear.

 

no matter how many times you may burn it,

it always grows back.

 

and so you find yourself sailing to this island.

the one you know has the power

to make you grow horns in the eyes of those you love.

it’s easier to go in circles,

claim you’re yearning for life on the sea

never disclosing your final destination.

 

i’ll let you know

if i ever find the courage to dock.