My Estuary by Dana Delibovi

The highway droning. Soot 
settling in. Thunder, then rainstorm. 
But not refreshing, because heat was envy 
spread across the green harbor. Jagged bottles. 
Wide concrete stanchions in the dark mud. 

Smell of low tide. Smell 
of dripping diesel and sharp envy, the wide bay 
covetous, our house leaking in silence. 
Money still evading the heat. 
The highway pointing and laughing; the harbor 

mute, a man working dockside, 
scraping, then sanding. Paycheck. And soon 
a motorboat, and then the creaky 
grind of a winch. The heat 
clinging, like a pact between 

fortune and fame. Wet humid air. The wealthy other shore 
beckoning sensuously, a fog hanging over it. My door 
bolted tight as a polemic. Rainstorm, 
pea-souper. Childhood tarred over with bills. 
Rich and poor dividing. The wide bay cutting. 

Dana Delibovi is a poet, essayist, and translator. Her work has recently appeared in After the Art, Apple Valley Review, Bluestem, The Confluence, Ezra Translations, Linden Avenue, Noon, and Zingara Poetry Review. In 2020, Delibovi received a Pushcart Prize nomination. She is consulting poetry editor at Witty Partition.

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