SEE MORE GLASS
do you still remember
the ocean? the seagulls,
the waves asunder? you brought
a record player, and sat
on the beach
like kids in a field.
the dslr couldn’t capture
how pretty you were, so instead
it froze polaris, while you watched
the townhouses on the opposite
coast light up in self-defense,
melting greenland by accident.
your voice, I think,
stayed the same—still the carousel
dreaming in technicolour, even as
avant-garde films screened in
cold-hearted theatres, and mermaids
sung to men in white,
even as the ocean paused to speak
to tchaikovsky’s 6th.
some summers, I still
go back to amsterdam, where the graves
brace for the annual flood,
put on the songs you used to play
for bananafish, as they rode
the crashing tide, and
order water at starbucks, to pass the time,
to see the barista write your name.
INGRID CUI is a student at the University of Toronto. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Half a Grapefruit Magazine, Ghost City Review, Poetry Institute of Canada, and The Trinity Review.