Ophelia in California

Long before the croplands

first wept, I searched for

oceans in pummeled fields.

Soil thins to bruised water once

hit with an earthquake, &

California, how often you’re

struck—golden hills rolling

into course waves, ground

long subdued from thrashing

into ripples overrun with wild

oat. There I sunk into longing

for a brook; not knowing myself

to already lay beneath it. Still.

Mikhail Beggs is a student-writer from California's Bay Area. His poetry has appeared in The Beatnik Cowboy, Synchronized Chaos, and Chinchilla Lit. In addition to writing poetry, he enjoys acting and directing. Find more at https://mishabeggs.wixsite.com/mikhailbeggs

West Coast Sonnet for Another Life

Some other life we have the choice to love

alone—when, sapped of wrong shame, I lose you

& you, valley-golden eyed, lose all of

me, too. When California isn’t rough blue,

only golden, when redwood soil learns to

cup rain without turning to carrion.

Some other life—we grow from soil, due

to become it. Grown out of self, hereon

the skies lose & find our breath, night & day

hurled into the roots of some universe

& what kills is only matter’s decay

from California-gold, my northwest-blue

syllables slash into wrong words. Tonight,

rain searches barred redwood soil, shame benight.