Rick Barot

TO J.

These stories are told as penance, lifted by tongues and said
into the sea so that we may be new again.
At the bottom of the cliff, our pants are dusty and our palms
stained from the orange dirt bright as children’s
cereal. We have chosen to trade what is familiar behind us
for what is before us—the fog’s thickness muting
shadows in its abrupt approach, objects made plain
as salt laced on the rocks. I squat above a tidal pool and stare
into the circle. Because we must gather images
to construct truths, the sea is beautiful and then it is
frightening. At first: It’s only an anemone. Then: Prepare for rage.
The tide aches.  The largeness of the day distorts
our sense of scale, what we can know.  I will remember
this place to be no larger than a shoebox packed with stones.
Your voice. It cannot travel now across that water.

RICK BAROT’s most recent book of poems is Moving the Bones (Milkweed Editions, 2024). His previous collection, The Galleons, was longlisted for the National Book Award. His work has appeared in numerous publications, including The Adroit Journal, The New Republic, The New Yorker, and Poetry. The recipient of fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation, the NEA, and Stanford University, he lives in Tacoma, Washington, and directs The Rainier Writing Workshop, the low-residency MFA program in creative writing at Pacific Lutheran University.