With Both Our Terms Intact

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The bay is a memory

Whose time is always now

Glowing greenish blue

Before rocks and sand

Slow in its inland intrusion

Into small beach towns

Where I fish the unknown

Green line on a stick

Taste familiar cotton candy

Watch taffy pulled

Eat bread shaped

Like a rock.

I refuse to let the bay go

Even as I shelter

Myself from storms the bay brings

To my doorstep, mat, and mailbox.

I hear it pelting my shingles

Tapping at my dirty windows.

I don’t invite it in

Deciding to meet the wind

On its own terms; outside

Where it washes my old desires

Causing a yearn

From the skin to the inside

Filling me full of myths

The disbelief that shapes me

Stemming from a past

Lingering in the present

A linear fishing line

Dangling into the dark of the bay

And like you all

I decorate inside my basement

With old trophies, shoes,

Broken odds and ends,

Defunct tools of communication

My only glimpse of the beach town

Is through a window, distorted

A mirror of handed-down stories

That I scribble into sense, inside

The cracks of concrete walls

Trapped and freed

By the bay’s storm, I eat

The rest of the bread

Cotton candy and taffy.

Attempting to turn my water

Into a sweet reddish cherry drink

Held together by impenetrable

Veins, vessels, and arteries adhered

To bones the shape of rocks

Other towns dot the shoreline

With bays attached

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21 thoughts on “With Both Our Terms Intact”

  1. Gorgeous interpretation of one’s relationship to their surroundings. We seldom stop to appreciate something so consequential as a body of water and its effects on our lives. Thanks for making a Floridian stop and think about his Peninsular life!

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  2. Beautiful story. One thing I find particularly great is your use of all senses, really draws me deeply in to the poem. Thank you very much 🙂

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  3. Wonderful detail. Made me feel like I was there, which poems don’t often do. I love the shingles and the rain. Thanks for sharing!

    Like

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