Sea-Wind
The few letters that you wrote to me
lie in a pile, disordered,
waiting for me to strike a match
and eliminate them
from the fetid field
where they lie.
I strike my match
as the wind carries
from the sea where you live, across
to my filthy little field.
The fire glows a moment,
goes out before I throw it down.
I light another match.
It, too, is blown out.
Your letters in the wind stir like leaves.
- © John Tustin 2023
John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals since 2009. His first poetry collection is forthcoming from Cajun Mutt Press. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.
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