waiting

a singular figure,

lithe—

standing at the water’s edge,

bare toes, at the hem of the vast sea.

the tide laps in—barely a kiss—

she lets out a deep sigh,

a liminal remnant of her inner roar,

nearly drowned now by time and prostration.

closing her eyes now,

she listens—

she leans into the steady rhythm surrounding her,

and waits for the ushering in of the tide,

for the rising and setting of the new sun,

for the answers hoped for,

that never come.

-j. a. hongo, 2025