Adrift

by Jacquie Lanthier

we live floating
bare
canoe husks push
towards sea kelp forests

under the dark
slick eels reach
from shell's white
trapping

silence

st r etc h  e s

islands apart

shores without

a lighthouse

About the Author

The ideas for Jacquie Lanthier's poems often rouse her from slumber, and, depending on her mood, she either loves or hates the word "crust"—no in-between. She lives in Vancouver, BC, where she is studying at Simon Fraser University to become a high school English teacher. When not writing poems, she can be found wandering the wilderness with a camera in hand.

Maintained or neglected, familiar or foreign, well-worn or wild, roadways inform our decisions and identities. Their geographies direct the movement
of our lives and sketch the cartography of our stories. In this spirit, 322 Review publishes provocative emerging and established artists whose fiction,
creative nonfiction, poetry, and mixed media artwork wander the paths of human experience. A nonprofit literary journal conceived
and operated by former Rowan University graduate students, 322 Review is based in Southern New Jersey.