Poetry Porch: Poetry


A boil
By D. S. Maolalaí

7:45. morning gone purple
and no longer
just so black. and it’s only
january now. and each day
the day still gets lighter.

and I drive,
shining the headlights
ahead of me
on the black
of the coast road, straight at the city,
like the point on a needle,
lancing the heart
of a boil. and above
and all around, the blue
of bruising boils
presses daylight
with dull blue
pain. beside me
the sea boils black, everything
else blue, becoming
blue; the blue
of a blackbirds feather –
blue colours
tilting from black wings.

summer is coming. and before that,
spring, and winter afterward.
I move with the traffic, a line
full of people, shooting toward the city,
appreciating blue. like a dolphin
in a pod of dolphins – we emerge in light;
burst, and dive again.

Copyright © 2020 by D. S. Maolalaí.