A Place We Can’t Call Home

by Tarn W.P. MacArthur

After Estuary – Camille Norton

Now I can see: here, at the end of the wash:
a place where words, like home, mean nothing:

they softly fade to stars in the gloaming
and everything is lost, save the thin jet-

contrail on stained orange,
the oily shore soaking reflections;

barefoot boys playfully sink baited-toes
among the crab holes, jutting sawyer

braids the grey-glide: a hawk, undisturbed
on its perch, molded black— pinafore

on the last purling rays— attempts
to bring night a moment early,

and what would it change? The water still
pours through: takes us where we’re standing.

Tarn W.P. MacArthur‘s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in literary journals including The Columbia Review, Blue Earth Review, and anthologized in Leonard Cohen: You’re Our Man (Tribute Anthology). A recent graduate from University of the Pacific, Tarn currently resides in Buenos Aires, Argentina, where he is studying Spanish while teaching English and French.

Back to Issue Eight: Summer 2010