FRENCH BEACH PARK
The sea
roars agitatedly,
the hands of the wind
at French Beach.
It is the icy air
that comes from the North.
It is the current
that lashes everything me,
the tree, the child,
the wild animals,
the cats at
my son’s house.
The sea roars on this day
with low tide, leaving uncovered
the naked rocks
that expose the mussels,
black shells
without their brackish cloaks.
Translation by:
Monique James & Belkis Possamai
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