By Virginia Barrett
For Bobby, who was too sick
to come to West Marin
because I’m human I must pick up
this small, bold rock striped gray and
white like waves
because I’m human I must hold it lovingly
in my hand as I walk on the beach beside
the ocean of bigger waves
because I’m human I must write about
the beach, a rock, and walking
because this living is not a solid body, nor
a series of straight lines, but moves like waves:
compelling, comforting, and brave.
Virginia Barrett’s books of poetry include Between Looking, (Finishing Line Press, forthcoming, 2019) Crossing Haight, and I Just Wear My Wings. Her work has most recently appeared in the Writer’s Chronicle, Narrative, What Rough Beast, Roar: Literature and Revolution by Feminist People, Ekphrastic Review, Weaving the Terrain (Dos Gatos Press), and Poetry of Resistance: Voices for Social Justice (University of Arizona Press). She received a 2017 writer’s residency grant from the Helene Wurlitzer Foundation of Taos, NM. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.