so I tie it up, taking two locs
from the back of my neck
and wrapping them around
the rest and tying a bow.
Just breathe, I tell myself.
Just breathe.
On Brighton Beach
I let my breathing
catch the timing
of the waves;
meditate.
I don’t swim,
surf, or paddle.
I don’t set foot
in the water at all.
When
I need to breathe
I sit
on Brighton Beach.
I love to know
I live on an island.
I know my people
are island people.
I am an island.
Boy becoming a man.
I am at university
discovering my identity.
I see wide-open sea
stretch out before me,
but I know the big city
