by Evelyn Gill
Begin Again
it begins here
or rather
in the streets
it begins at the end
of an exhaust pipe
or rather
forty-one miles
off the Louisiana coast
it begins
with a man who makes masks
from gasoline canisters
or rather
a man who makes a living
from gasoline canisters
and plastic bags and plastic bags and plastic bags
mistaken for moon jellies
it begins in August
a soot-red sun
water rising
it begins with change
ends with change
or rather
it ends on foot
headed North
in grief
in coming together after grief
in forgetting
it ends
it ends with water
begins with water
fresh water carried
in gasoline canisters
by new hands
it begins
Evelyn Gill (she/they) is a queer poet, birdwatcher, and nurse living in northwest Washington with her spouse and dog. Evelyn’s work has appeared in Stoneboat Literary Journal, The Indianapolis Review, and The Westchester Review, among other publications.