April Poetry | Laurel Rust

In recognition of Poetry Month, and to celebrate and highlight our treasure trove of Orcas Island poets, Orcas Issues is pleased and honored to again offer daily poetry during April.

AFTER THE SUDDEN DEATH OF A FRIEND, I TRAVEL TO MEXICO
for Nathan Tyler

— Laurel Rust —

I left home and travelled here
because I know you, Nate,
will not be here, either,
and I need to stop looking and waiting
for you. Here, your absence is almost plausible.
Though I speak a few words in the language
of this country, I know only present tense.

The narrow streets of this small fishing village
are cobblestone, uneven. I have to pay attention.
It’s like learning to walk again.
Along the beach, my feet sink
in sand. The shore is a long curve brimming
with salt and water, a mouth
that cannot close. You died in water.

In the cemetery, thick brown dust covers
the clear plastic carefully wrapping
enormous artificial flower bouquets.
Everywhere, the dust is so thick
I could write your name in it.
Even the thriving bougainvillea blossoms
encircling the wrought iron railings around
my bedroom window are coated.
I keep wiping clear my glasses.

Every morning, and every evening,
I watch shopkeepers sweep up the dust
on the streets, every morning
and every evening, even though
it settles right back down. Still, they sweep
and sweep, patiently, with their small brooms.
Low sunlight turns the dust into clouds
of gold, having been lifted into the light
by the faithful and let fall again,
onto the stones at our feet,
in all the streets where we must live.