Afternoon

This one is yesterday's poem. It is a perfect example of what happens when I'm just not in the mood to write a poem, darn it, have agreed to write one daily for a month, said something silly and then decided, ok, well, that's the poem then.

Here it is. It's silly.

*

Afternoon

Watching her, topless and denim cutoffs,
rinse the suds off her collie,
I said---that just looks
so wholesome---you know,
healthy, all-American lesbian erotica.
Like if Norman Rockwell painted cute butches.

She laughed, and didn’t argue.

Sunflower Star

Sunflower star

Some time ago, on a rocky shore of the Pacific, I met
a sunflower star. It was lovely, soft and many-armed;
I extended my hand to it, and quickly
it swarmed up my fingers, its tiny tube-feet questing,
its body alive with fascination. Was I food?

I hoped not. I was not expecting
so much interest from an echinoderm,
much less this eager tasting.
I removed it gently as I could, a bit pained
that it left a few stray tube feet held fast
to the skin of my hand,
More nervous and eager to part company than I might have wished.
Denied, it secreted itself
beneath safe rock, and after that withdrew from touch.

Yesterday, I met another two,
resting against each other in the cool rock-shaded water,
trying to outwait the tide. One had an arm extended,
shockingly orange against its purple outer self.
I touched it; it quested lightly and pulled itself away.
So self-aware, these fleet-moving and sensitive
predatory things. So much less sessile than expected.
I was more cautious myself, this time; I'd learned
the feel of little tube feet moving with intention
and just for a moment, an irrational fear of being eaten.

It's not a bad thing to be reminded
not to assume; to remember that
we are always on the menu
and that the splendid vastness hungers.

A beautiful day at the beach, and slimy things found under rocks.

A photopost! We'll start with the collective pack of Kyn and myself, politely sitting until released to play. All four dogs looking in the same direction omg.



By the way, I know that my use of "sessile" wasn't exactly correct in the last post, but it was close enough and I wanted to use it so I did. Sufficiently accurate for poetry?

( dogs who love to visit surf and the things who live there. )