An Ocean is Anything You Can't See the Other Side Of by Nick Martino

“The ocean of his eye and the ocean of his other eye.”

An Ocean is Anything You Can't See the Other Side Of
by Nick Martino

The last drag on the cigarette ocean, break is over,
get back to work. The ocean of the ember's tunnel
through a rag of snow, and then the ocean of another 
three hours waiting tables at the German restaurant.
The ocean of lunch buffet, followed by the ocean
of closing, the ocean of sleep in your idling pickup
for an hour, then the ocean of opening for dinner
at dusk. The thirty dollars in tips ocean. The ocean
of your hunger. The seventeen-minute drive home
you could do asleep ocean, have done a dozen times
gin-blind ocean. The ocean of what if tonight he doesn't—?
and then the ocean of arrival. The ocean of your father
on the corduroy couch, bad leg propped up, cursing
at a ball game. The ocean of the curse he turns on you.
The ocean of it dazzling the air. The quiet ocean.
The ocean of the look you share. The ocean of his eye
and the ocean of his other eye. The ocean of the night sky
that breaks against the kitchen window, where the ocean
of your two reflections fuse in the storm glass and drown.

Originally published in Scrap Book by Nick Martino, Alice James Books, 2026. Used with permission.