Poems by D.S. Maolalai
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Low tide. Sand crunching.
by D.S. Maolalai
D.S. lives in a small city on an island in the Atlantic, just off the European coast and in an apartment overlooking a sluggish grey river, surrounded on all sides by seagulls.
wet leaves
on the pavement,
flat as dead
starfish. I walk
past the park;
think of beaches,
low tide. sand
crunching underfoot,
the sharp smell
of fresh urine.
the lap of the ocean
pawing the dirt
as it sorts through
its flotsam
and shells.
© D.S. Maolalai
Sand dunes
by D.S. Maolalai
From Canary Spring 2022
it's something a bruised
evening anyway. wind
pushing birds about
like pages arranged
on a desk. we are walking
past smithfield’s free
government housing –
watching the breeze
as it plaits our dog's hair.
the apartment’s nearby – she’s old
and can't handle a walk
in a windscape. and the buildings
show something in size
of a continent. they rise, sheer
as risen things, washing and clean
from the sea. little windows,
grey painted walls.
like naval ships, crashed
into sand dunes – men going over
with ropes. something natural
there, in this unnatural
piling – uninteresting lives
lived on top of each other. the wind
moves. from somebody's windowsill,
a radio. the kitchen
come to greet us; you can hear
the shape in music; the patterned tiles, mugs
and hanging tea-towels. a domesticity
reached out of all
this landscape. someone
sitting down,
drinking tea. we pass by slowly
and the wind pulls
like a dog against the music. we're on
the street again, and very cold.
© D.S. Maolalai
There, something!
by D.S. Maolalai
From Canary Summer 2023
just down around dawn. the south
circular road. near camden st, near
to the river. the world being textured
by oblique slanting rafters
of sun striking sideways
and leaning on everything's
stubble. no traffic so early,
but a rabbit was there – yes –
coming down out of somebody's
garden. the morning was quiet, its nose
twitched in chewed over lungfuls like half idle
fingers, shuffling through record
collections. I stood still – there,
something! something novel in context,
you know? my apartment was just
a few road-crossings backways,
it was where I was coming from, and this
was a rabbit, a real life wild
animal, some woodgrain-
brown fur on a body. it could
have been god's face for how much
it mattered, and how much it felt
like it meant. and then a man passing
and the rabbit awayed. and then
the day happened, and the rest of it.
© D.S. Maolalai