Any migration is forced

Poetry by Sara Comito

Buried – Sara Comito

Foxglove Journal

You can get a horse as soon

as you get a backhoe big

enough to bury it, Momma

told her. Likewise, she didn’t

have the smarts to bother

with college.

Down the pier a sailor smoked

and mended his net. Feeling her

stare, he pegged her for

lonely, took her out to sea.

Momma didn’t get a husband

til she had a big enough knife.

The net was big enough for this

new catch, but – Momma

will be missing me.

His face cracked with years

of salt like those sore, handknitted

knots. Swells made false islands

of horizon. Seven miles and you

lose the land, he says.

The distance she can’t

make sense of. It folds itself

into a wave she could ride

all the way back there and bury

everything. But she can’t

tell.

Is it big enough?

Bio photoSara Comito is a writer living in Fort Myers. Her…

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Versed in Florida

I am a poet, and I live in Florida. The Fort Myers NPR affiliate, WGCU Public Media, decided to feature me as the Florida poet of the month for March. I had a cold. Turns out I sound a little sultry with a cold. I hope you enjoy the interview, which has been posted in four segments:

Many thanks for Mad Hatter’s Review for originally publishing “All drains lead to the sea,” which I read in the first segment.

Ramshackle Review graciously published “Listing,” featured in the second segment.

I’m grateful to Blue Fifth Review for publishing “The smell of honey,” from the third segment.

Thank you, The Anemone Sidecar, for publishing “Florida dreams of Peru,” which I read in the final segment.