Dear Atlantic,
Alaina Veronique
You lick the shore with a tongue fluent in borders,
Your sound pressing into the sand;
Is it a hymn or a warning?
I stand where you end and
watch your silver throat
swallow every word I send.
My hands,
raw from the salt of praying,
curl around a pen to reoffend
a page yearning to be cut.
Each wave is an elegy,
each crest a mouth calling out for more.
What do you know of waiting, Atlantic?
Do you carry my words beneath your skin?
You lick the shore with a tongue fluent in borders,
but I speak the language of crossing.
Alaina Veronique
Alaina Veronique is a writer, editor, and educator living in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Her writing spans both nonfiction and poetry, with work appearing in The Dalhousie Gazette, the Dalhousie Student Life Blog, and The Vagabond’s Verse. She is currently pursuing a Master’s degree in Creative Fiction at the University of King’s College. Her creative work centers on themes of love and grief, and the ways these forces intersect to shape intimacy, memory, and human connection. In addition to her graduate studies, Alaina teaches creative writing, English, and history to ESL students, helping language learners discover new ways of engaging with English through craft and creativity. She is also the founder of From the Fig Tree Press, a small independent literary press committed to publishing diverse and experimental works across genres and media.