Experience is Not truth, not
more than the cold wet sting of
my sunburn, is the sea. I could see
a thousand different shapes in the foam
of a single wave, if only it would stay put,
shapes which are not the sea, not
the point of the water’s motion
the motion reaching
opening the door—
the old wound— salt water heals but
it also burns; what to do now,
I have seen a thousand different
shapes of sufferings pass
your face, knowing I have caused
each of them in turn
shadows rising— the thousand and first—
should I leave? should I stay?
Would my going tell you What is the truth of who I am,
who you are, or simply of the wave,
what will not stay still its foam sliding back
down the shore, dissolving into the current,
leaving unanswered the true nature of
the sea— how to define it—
is it physics, an angle of motion,
chemistry, a bond between atoms
the coldness circling an ankle—
rising around a calf, is it salt, water,
algae, wave, sand, is it fish, dolphin,
ship: of course it is
none of these but
our minds empty place us here
with the shore, with the sound of
the wind and water carving rock. You loved me
a space, true,
but does it matter now you are
in the current moving away.
Author Bio: Holly Karapetkova’s poetry, prose, and translations from Bulgarian have appeared in Prairie Schooner, Alaska Quarterly Review, Drunken Boat, and many other places. Her second book, Towline, won the Vern Rutsala Poetry Prize and was recently published by Cloudbank Books.
