by Sati Mookherjee

It occurred to me this morning, that it is we, the living, who haunt
the places where our loved ones are lost. —SDP, text message


I sat with you among driftwood wrists
and wrought, stone-clutching bull kelp roots.
The morning unsunned by a clotted mist,
that slicked the rock and wadded the bay mute.

We watched the logs rocked as if by a hand,
keeping meter of indifferent lullaby.
Looked out, at the mainland. To the dark band
floating way offshore, a twitching skein

of … scoters? Brants? We couldn’t tell.
But only watched the quivering knot
thicken improbably, then unravel itself,
an engine, thousand-stroke and monoglot.

A wake swelled just then, the boat long passed.
And all the fists rose up still holding fast.

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Sati Mookherjee is the author of Eye (Ravenna Press, 2022) and Ways of Being (Albiso Award, MoonPath Press, 2023). Her collaborations with contemporary classical composers have been performed or recorded by ensemble and solo musicians. Recent work appears/is forthcoming in journals including Gulf Coast, RHINO, and Quarterly West. Recipient of an Artist Trust/ Washington State Arts Commission Fellowship Award, she presently serves on the Board of Directors of the Cascadia International Women’s Film Festival. See satimookherjee.com.