Morgan Russell - Poetry


by Morgan Russell

There isn’t anything out there as terrifying as the brackish water

that foams outside Las Trojas, the cantina where my brother likes to drink.




Do you know anything that tastes more like the ocean?

The bite.

The brine.

The choking sour

A reminder that you don’t belong here

anymore than you do on land.

We aren’t supposed to go out there.

The depths where prayers are drowned are home to forgotten gods

and it’s rude to invite yourself into someone’s home. That is why I am here,

in a skiff, scooping out prayers with seashells in the breeze.