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Kevin Conder
Sands BeachIt is 1981 and the ocean is stained with the white fires of plankton. It's come to this, New Year's Eve and I'm wandering drunk among the seaweed asking What Now? Every year, another house-- the yard and family gone, the roof giving way under the raining salt, the rooms waiting to be filled with water-- falls from the cliffs. Every year, under the cemetery, more coffins burst from the face and hang like logs. Every year, in the November storms, a huge riptide darkens the deep waters and another swimmer is never found. Fireworks blossom over Isla Vista and it is 1982. This is the year a light so intense will come, the ocean will give back the dead and we will all drink from its waters. I will have back the only woman that ever mattered, and I will be happy. Every year, I think the same thing and, every year, just like this year, I kneel beside an ocean glistening with debris and oil and sing of nothing until the fog rolls over me. |
| Kevin Conder
lives in Portland, Oregon with his wife and their Jack Russell Terrier. He
is the author of two books: The Yellow Earth and has just finished
a memoir entitled The Rock Star. His poetry has appeared in 42Opus
and will appear in the next print issue of SnowMonkey. He
has taught English to a variety of students from China, Yugoslavia and Russia
while living in Stockholm, Sweden. Kevin holds a B.A. in Philosophy from
UCSB and a M.F.A. in creative writing from the University of Arizona. email:
K.Conder |