November 9, 2020
By Chantal Eyong
The water
⁃ slaps, tugs, swells, and lifts.
⁃ Fully aware of us.
⁃ But more aware of the yellow moon.
⁃ Cold. Rough.
⁃ Blunt Daggers that grow soft in due time
⁃ Every time
⁃ we arrive at night time
⁃ The engine hums
⁃ When you pull near the cliffs
⁃ You turn off the borrowed car
⁃ vacant ears for the first time in hours
⁃ Silence-lust
⁃ Yellow moon taste
⁃ Saliva fills my mouth
⁃ High tide.
⁃ Your breath met the
⁃ Waves crashing against rock
⁃ Louder than your goodbye
⁃ I cannot hear you.
⁃ Salt is inside of me. It bubbles up in my mouth before the tears form
⁃ Sea foam
⁃ the crisp air is salt
⁃ burning my cheeks
⁃ Blunt daggers
⁃ My tears are hot
⁃ my words would have flavor
⁃ If I could speak
⁃ Time is borrowed
⁃ I am on the moon
⁃ Feasting.
Chantal Eyong
Writer
Chantal is an author, artist and media producer based in Los Angeles, California. Her work focuses on Afro-diasporic narratives in relation to the self, place-making, archives and memory. Chantal holds an MFA in Screenwriting from the University of California Riverside and is currently a doctoral student in the Media Arts + Practice program at the University of Southern California.
Images credits:
Feature Image – Instagram: @shncko
