Excerpted from: At the Beach
At the beach
the seagulls cried
sounding like the cutting of a thick cloth
with a pair of dull rusty scissors.
The sand was hot
on the palms of my feet;
the salt water washed
against the shore. I sat
on the sand
with fragments of shells,
dead crustaceans,
sea sponges,
dried starfish, the
jaws of small sharks and
barnacles attached like buttons to
broken, bundled, stranded and tattered
baskets of seaweed.
(Original photo in background by Cathy Smith, poem excerpt & photo copyrighted in Apple Cider, Copyright c 2016, Cathy Smith - Ketchikan, Alaska. Fishing boats at dock.)
the seagulls cried
sounding like the cutting of a thick cloth
with a pair of dull rusty scissors.
The sand was hot
on the palms of my feet;
the salt water washed
against the shore. I sat
on the sand
with fragments of shells,
dead crustaceans,
sea sponges,
dried starfish, the
jaws of small sharks and
barnacles attached like buttons to
broken, bundled, stranded and tattered
baskets of seaweed.
(Original photo in background by Cathy Smith, poem excerpt & photo copyrighted in Apple Cider, Copyright c 2016, Cathy Smith - Ketchikan, Alaska. Fishing boats at dock.)