portion of the artwork for Christine Reilly's poetry

March 11, 2011
Christine Reilly

All business
this tsunami

I was there, just like how I’ve seen
the moon, know how space air
can absorb a body
turn shoulders into broken birds or
a torso into a tortilla

through the television or postcards.
I watched
the video of the tsunami,
the threshold between wave shoaling
and drawback

Speaking of threshold, I used to be
bad at leaving all rooms
but good at entering certain rooms

disregarding moments strung together
by pain with a season. It’s just
a season. This too shall pass

I’d hiss to whoever was eavesdropping

The tsunami had
scarlet boots
and a man in a wheelchair
and the people trying to lift the wheelchair,
not the man. I remember thinking
the tsunami had suede legs

no time to dilly-dally
the camera is shut off
and the tsunami hangs up
without saying goodbye


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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 34 | Fall 2011