Caitlin Neely

Up North, I can never remember

what sea tastes like. See: memory,

see: Ferris wheel-covered boardwalk.

The drive down 75—Chattanooga, Kissimmee,

Fort Lauderdale; the waves full of worn                           

vowels, whale bones. The far-cry

of gull, the dark on dark sound of landscape,

scattering of heron. Everything

falling, everything shore and flesh.






"I think it is all a matter of love; the more you love a memory the stronger and stranger it becomes" —Vladimir Nabokov