Sea of strangers exhales.               

                                              Something natural

reorders us                without consent.           We reorder         

            the coastline.               My therapist:         

                                                           what do you feel 

 in your stomach?     In your chest?    I feel nothing.  Nothing 

matters. I touch nothing.    I’m angry.   Stop

asking.                 Have you ever stood on a shore, 

felt the water change heights?  Felt the wet sand rush to squeeze

your legs too tight? 

                               In each of us:

                                            possibility,   a knife wedged 

           under the mattress, a new strangeness, an undiscovered way 

       we could touch each other, a bird never heard before 

   singing, an untaken path, 

                                    or genesis.

Copyright © 2022 by Aliah Lavonne Tigh. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on September 19, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.