Issue Seventeen - December 2010

Disappearing Hieroglyphics

By Maya Borhani

This nest of sun-crackled grass pulls me earthward
like seed heads drowsy with late summer’s weight,
more prone than upright, closer to winter
than to the longest day. Sunk to earth’s
inevitable bed of gravity and limb,
my gaze wanders out over silvery water,
body a nimbus to float senses
into everything.

Late September afternoon
boating crowds gone home,
seagulls turn a lazy curve, dive
over umber-colored cliffs, wet
sluice of pebbles and beach below.
Herring swirl in sapphire nets
of sunlight glinting off banked ripples,
strands of current pulled to shore
under gibbous moon’s invisible sway.

Salmon jump in minty shallows,
splash and rise in airborne arc
of scales lighting heavenward.
Eagles carve the horizon,
cleave naked sky with silent wings
that leave glittering shadows
on the water in their wake,
like disappearing hieroglyphics
to discern the faltering light to come.

Copyright Maya Borhani 2010

Maya Borhani grew up among eucalyptus, wild nasturtiums, and sour grass blossoms in Berkeley, California, before migrating to the great central valley, and later the Sierra Nevada foothills of northern California. A former resident of Lopez Island, her work has appeared in previous issues of Shark Reef, as well as in an upcoming special UNESCO issue of Multi-Disciplinary Research in the Arts. Maya has recently completed a Master of Arts degree in Language and Literacy Education at the University of British Columbia, Vancouver, on the topic of poetic inquiry and a/r/tography (the conflagration of artist/researcher/teacher). When not studying or writing, Maya spends her time hiking, playing in the dirt, and reveling in sunshine and beachcombing.

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