Kalaloch, July 2012

Clair Dunlap

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

to marshmallow.

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

Twitter: @smallgourd