a vision of my country in the distant future

it's 250 years later,
we're afloat in the ocean,
we have an exclusive economic zone.
we don't have a true shoreline
or sand.
sometimes there are tidalwave alerts
which no one heeds
except the elderly because
they don't want their homes
to move without prior warning.

children fish from porches
and play in kelp farms.
grownups work
at desalination plants,
at floating power stations
or in kelp farms.
mothers are expected to know how to make:
oyster cakes,
seaweed salads,
prawn casseroles,
wetsuits.

everyone still speaks dhivehi
with friends, wives, colleagues,
but no one speaks beyfulhu language
except for poets.
and those who speak beyfulhu language
are considered poets.
and shunned.
especially by other poets
who, as children, never fished from porches
and dream mostly about the ocean.
and speak of the beyfulhu ghosts
they glimpse in its depths.