poetry by marina hope wilson

The Drive

When I was young, 
the hills were green like this 

and you were strong and 
unyielding as the hills—

green and full of 
stories. Wet and fresh 

as anyone equipped to live 
in a car or under the sky.

You fought a man 
much bigger than you

because he had drowned a kitten 
in the river and you said

anyone who would do that 
had to be weak. 

You, pure sinew, all
impulse and overflowing 

with rain and green, like that. 
Yes, like those hills just there. 

I can see them now.

Ghaflah

after June Jordan

The bones of my father
are only bones. At best,
they shift through the air
near the edge of the sea.
Return. Become earth, sky.

Everything changes shape.
The finches alight on a wire,
then fly away a moment later.
My father was so many things.
I can’t tell myself any other story.

Marina Hope Wilson’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in journals such as The Massachusetts Review, Horse Less Press, qarrtsiluni, and $. Her chapbook, Nighttime, was a finalist in the Black Lawrence Press Spring 2022 Black River Chapbook Competition. Marina lives in San Francisco with her partner, stepdaughter, and two cats, and makes her living as a speech-language therapist.