sundays by Kofi Antwi
the harbor is burdened land, tampered
waters – a ripple in the
sea halts it’s viability.
at bay we mourn our past, balance
tomorrow’s deficiencies,
dashes of mint dove flurries
dissolve on brown skin, we
peak past familiar
banks – bush avenue, harbored
roads, the terrace borders
this island. a subtle smile
raises your brows,
we are confined to
seats – a graceful dance
between brisk breaths
dissipate amongst
comfort, observant of
commuters trek through snow –
they, like us, stultify a journey