Longing is my mother,
and we are headed to the ocean
to talk about my father
who just died.
She grew up
with him, knew him
for more than half a century.
28,204 days holding hands
Salt-spray stings
our faces, but we still want
the sea. He snorkled
and she surfed – they embraced
the same things
differently.
holding hands 28,204 days
Each crest and trough
of wave a gentle rocking,
a sharp slap of water – emptiness
when it splashes
away. Tears taste
like the ocean we love.
holding 28,204 days in our hands
Sunrise, sunset stuns
a flat horizon. Rain sweeps
the distance, sun glittering
a surface that spools
and roils below with tides
lapping shorelines of sand
and pebbles and rock.
Rough edges tumbled,
shards smoothed and worn.
One hand reaching out,
the other letting go.
Fever Dream
Words are birds
that fly in and out
of my mind – a cardinal
of lush here, a bluebird
of bright there. Plain
little wrens sing
a symphony, and fluttering
wings bring
siroccos and whirlwinds.
What does the woodpecker tap
except piñatas
that burst into blossom?
Words skip and sulk,
a heap of lisping
as we try to write,
looping the trees
for ideas
to grapple into words
we can plunder.
KB Ballentine, winner of Poetry Society of Tennessee’s 2025 Best of the Fest and Writer’s Digest November 2024 PAD Chapbook Challenge, has nine collections of poetry, the most recent All the Way Through (Shelia-Na-Gig 2024). Her work also appears in numerous anthologies including: Women Speak: Volume Ten, Writing the Land: Wanderings II, Art of Chestnut Review: Volume One, and The Strategic Poet. Learn more at www.kbballentine.com.
January House Literary Journal 
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