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Lorraine Singh


I am a well-nourished New Zealand woman
who is thoroughly immersed in waves.
Infinite numbers of waves come and go


turn shine like sardines headed for the coast.
I float motionless limbs extended in sapphire
water like some sort of strange echinoderm.


I hold my breath my mind drifts to fishermen
who are sons of fishermen and whose fathers
were sons of fishermen along the South Aral coast
where sea has returned to salt.


They drift listless and endangered amongst
phosphorescent dust clouds
clothes flapping in unseasonable winds
they lead camels across a white desert.




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