Kalaloch, July 2012
nothing to do but sit back and sip. cue
the indigo sunset over cold rocks, the
bonfire ashing driftwood, frenzied
salt pops, a mile high. the combination
of pacific breeze and hellfire, of
chocolate and sandy fingertips: molar
and so we wait, down the dunes from our pitched tent.
spit into the sea, rock back on our heels
and watch the moon turn up.
when we can’t see anything but the
sharp edges of our faces in ember orange,
we climb back and zip ourselves into bed.
sink into the silence that runs each twig snap from the woods
down your back like a fingernail.
Clair Dunlap grew up just outside Seattle, Washington, and started writing poems at the age of six. She is the author of In the Plum Dark Belly (2016) and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Empty Mirror, The Ilanot Review, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Hobart, Peach Mag, L'Éphémère Review and more. www.clairdunlappoetry.wordpress.com