portion of the artwork for Iris Litt's poem

Somewhere by the Sea
Christopher Kuhl

I am not a gardener.
I lie on a bed
Of dark sea grass, the wind

Sifting across my body,
Lingering over my legs, ribs,
My hollowed chest, through

My wind-tossed hair. At night,
The sea is cool, placid:
The wind has stopped. Yet still

I lie on the dark sea grass,
In the moonless midnight’s
Silence. Slowly,

The earth and I sink together;
We remember floating bright
In the dark waters of the womb.


In the distance, a candle
Smolders like the scent of grief.

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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 52 | Fall/Winter 2018