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.