‘Aubade III’ by Kerrin Smith
If there’s an edge to this city, it’s here.
Two rows of gas stations pallbear
the interstates into the sky.
They bridge over the marshes.
Behind these storefronts and the traffic,
marshes are all there is.
On a map, I see a finger of the water’s
splayed hand press the mud down.
It plays a piano key.
The clouds fade to pale yellow at the horizon,
and cover you and me like the yolk of a boiled egg.
I’ve seen so many sunrises over the sea.
From issue #4: spring/summer 2017
About the Author
Kerrin Smith lives in Baltimore, USA and works as a writing tutor and graduate assistant. She is currently working on an MFA in creative writing, which will culminate in her first collection of poetry. Her work has previously appeared in Welter, The Avenue, and Skelter journals.
