Displacement

Devon Hansen


Although exact amounts of seawater post-
panamaxes thrust aside remain mostly
unfathomed, soft laps in the sheltered

cove fail to reach the sundried rocks.
Uphill, red-coated guard ghosts serenely lengthen
the night, usher ships to port, ferry workers in the
5AM still to jobs evicting neighbours,
paving wetlands; the once-sparkling network
of creeks and people have trickled below

turf and concrete for too long, calm sentries
losing will through centuries to hear their flow.
Ears of disregard belong to cousins and ancestors,
who pretend this continent seven generations deep.
Scrappy rats push out resident mice, harlequin
ladybugs nip pallid ankles. Some have learned
in harder years to wrap around their love,

clutch each other like grief-stricken fox kits.
There is no ocean-sized expanse to melt
into on this ancient stone jut. A sprayflash
of starlings sweeps the lopped-off hill.