• A Poem by me

Storied by Sea

She was supposed to come home

(with a giggle)

and a flush from pluff mud

piled high with various sorts of sunny stuff,

the makings of one’s own disposition.


grocery sacks spilling with

odds and ends

of a life well-lived

and a half-dozen waxy lemons.


upon her wrist so slight would ride

a plastic bag crowded with

clusters of ice and a quarter of

rough-hewn oysters.

We’d have beer with dinner. Maybe wine?

“What pairs better, my dear, with the

soft filtered tang of a well-aged brine?”

from the creeks,

not the factories, that share the same name,

the place where I last



touched and

breathed (in)


Hinged bi-valves,

a cracked pearly heart,

both wed and un-


Never apart.

Attached (still) open

not ready to be,

storied in salt

yet entombed by the sea.


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