Search
  • 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.

(Juggling)

grocery sacks spilling with

odds and ends

of a life well-lived

and a half-dozen waxy lemons.

(Dangling)

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

saw

felt

touched and

breathed (in)

you.

Hinged bi-valves,

a cracked pearly heart,

both wed and un-

wed?

Never apart.

Attached (still) open

not ready to be,

storied in salt

yet entombed by the sea.

#poetrybyme

0 views

Recent Posts

See All

Fixer Upper

Lowcountry Weekly Everywhere you look these days, it seems something needs fixing. And this something not only needs to be fixed but also must be flipped, fluffed, inflated, puffed up, “pinterested”,

A Curious Lens

Lowcountry Weekly There has been a shift in my life. Not a seismic one. Not earth-shattering, in a thrown to my hands and knees shook-up kinda way. That would be a major change I’d like to think I’d

At Brogen's: Let the Big Dawgs Eat

Web Content/H2O It was probably from the payphone that stood out front of Higdon’s, the old bait, tackle, and breakfast joint that sat across from the pier in the Village. “Mike Haugen called me up

© 2023 by EDUARD MILLER. Proudly created with Wix.com

  • w-facebook
  • Twitter Clean