Intermission
I am walking the shore with my eyes closed
The sandpipers are running into the water
Not away
They are bathing themselves
Sometimes lines come to me in a dream
Lines that become a poem
Lines that become a door
Other times I count the mirrors on the wall
In my grandmother’s house 12
Twelve mirrors next to the crucifix
Hope for Judas is the name of the play
I seek forgiveness
On the sand
In the undercurrent
Though I am still not sure what for
When the curtain rises the sandpipers are sleeping
They sleep standing up
One wing tucked over their head
Necks turned grotesquely
The whole audience feels how the most beautiful things
Are grotesquely written
And that is why I am sure
No one is watching
I am at the intermission
So I don’t know
How this ends
Do the birds fly away
Does the protagonist trip do they
Become the antagonist
Aren’t they already and where
The hell is Judas is he
The mirror
Or is he walking is
He grotesque too and also
Beautiful does he sleep
Standing up seeking
Forgiveness
He dreams of the sandpipers
Bravissimo he says to them
To no one
Because the audience isn’t watching no one
Is watching the birds tucking themselves into bed
And this upsets them and the antagonist nearly walks
Into them and this upsets them and before the audience
Knows it the sandpipers are shattering
The mirrors with their sharp little beaks
Squeaking bravissimo?
Bravissimo??
All are shattered all but
One
Just the one
The one Judas looks into and whispers
Grotesque
At Smugglers Cove
The importance of fish jumping is never about the fish themselves; it’s unclear whether Nigel the bartender is a flirt or just from Tortola. A catamaran anchors off the western point and the rooster crows intermittently, the siren of this sea—as in, alarm, not beautiful mermaid. The drinks are strong but not too strong. You’re on your third and I haven’t even started. I swore off alcohol as my New Year’s Resolution and it’s the only one I’ve ever been able to keep. I resolve not to leave this place, and to remember, from now on, that you use your pointer finger, line by line, when you read. Five years, and how did I not notice until now? At Smugglers Cove, I notice things: it’s about what’s chasing the fish. The tradeoff is that I can no longer ignore them. That, and how rocky it is to wade into the water.
Veronica Schorr is the author of Conscious Blue (Finishing Line Press, 2021) and winner of the Collins Literary Prize in Poetry. Her writing appears or is forthcoming in Honey Literary, Entropy, Peregrine, and elsewhere. Most recently, she was shortlisted for the 2022 Penrose Poetry Prize. Veronica is Assistant Poetry Editor at EcoTheo Review and a content writer. When she's not writing, reading, or making photos, you can usually find her hiking somewhere around Phoenix (O'odham and Piipaash land) with her partner. Visit her online at veronicaschorr.com.