On An Ebbing Seafoam Tide

Love, loss, witchcraft, avocado toast, and storming the patriarchy: an inclusive poetic perspective on millennial life. The ocean is one of the greatest metaphors: the ebb and flow of love and loss, the tumultuous emotions that roil beneath a blue-calm surface, the search for meaning in the endless horizons of sea and sky. On an Ebbing Seafoam Tide is a deep dive into reflections on the calms and tempests of everyday life. Alannah Radburn’s poetry floats to the surface amidst the messy chaos of personal relationships and societal constructs, and comes together in a relatable perfect storm of practical wisdom. If you’ve ever felt like you were drowning in feelings or searching to find meaning in today’s turbulent times, you will find a lifeline in these poems.

Joanna is consoled and troubled by a man who attempts to help her endure the absence of her husband who left their little island off the Maine coast to go to war

“Where does all the grief go when it’s not tugging at your wrist?” Enyegue’s debut collection is an ode to girlhood, to Blackness, to generational trauma, sexual assault, and mental health. This collection does not aim to heal anyone who reads it, but instead help them confront their own healing. Rather than sugar-coated bullets that enter you lightly, these poems are designed to hurt. They are for the girls with difficult names, the boys with softness at their core, and the people with neither. They are meant for the people who are Black, and the people who are not—because we are all tethered together by the heaviness of the human experience.

The Ebbing Of The Tide

Reproduction of the original: The Ebbing of the Tide South Sea Stories by Louis Becke

A boy and a girl sat by the rocky margin of a deep mountain pool in Ponape in the North Pacific. The girl was weaving a basket from the leaves of a cocoa-nut. As she wove she sang the "Song of Luliban," and the boy listened intently. "'Tis a fine song that thou singest, Niya," said the boy, who came from Metalanien and was a stranger; "and who was Luliban, and Red-Hair the White Man?" "O Guk!" said Niya, wonderingly, "hast never heard in Metalanien of Luliban, she who dived with one husband and came up with another—in this very pool?" "What new lie is this thou tellest to the boy because he is a stranger?" said a White Man, who lay resting in the thick grass waiting for the basket to be finished, for the three were going further up the mountain stream to catch crayfish. "Lie?" said the child; "nay, 'tis no lie. Is not this the Pool of Luliban, and do not we sing the 'Song of Luliban,' and was not Red-Hair the White Man—he that lived in Jakoits and built the big sailing boat for Nanakin, the father of Nanakin, my father, the chief of Jakoits?" "True, Niya, true," said the White Man, "I did but jest; but tell thou the tale to Sru, so that he may carry it home with him to Metalanien.