Shoreline

On our annual father-daughter beach walk
we pass through a minefield of seashells,
the remains of a crab creature from outer space,
a pufferfish huffing its last puff,
an uprooted tree returned to the land
after an ocean journey left her
varnished, bruised, choked by sea moss.
We dodge unnerving clumps of bubbles
left behind by water
tourists like me believe is clean enough to swim in.

On the way back
we watch the sun fall,
and the tide relentlessly
invade a sand city,
with its bucket-shaped battlements
and conscientiously-scooped moats,
now proven useless to the watery onslaught.

Resolute waves blur the boundaries
a small human tried to create
between the built world and nature,
bundled home before she could learn
her first hard lesson
of impermanence and vulnerability
out here on the cold wet sand.

Calibrations

We need a machine
to tell us if you love me
as much as I love you.

To calculate
what could go wrong
and when
and maybe even why.

So I can anticipate
regulate
mitigate
brace myself
for your inevitable departure.

===

Will comment on others' posts this weekend!

Opening Day (written 5/1)

Hail dodges the marigolds
I planted yesterday,
melts
on contact
with earth's warm embrace.

The soil opens up,
releases
spring's secrets.

Grey backdrop gives way
to pink.

May is going to be just fine.

A return to May/Day

Hello all -

I took last year off (and frankly didn't post much in '13), but am feeling the urge to do some wordplay and this is a perfect impetus, so thank you to Angeline for coordinating and nudging. I am one of the originators of this project, and it's wonderful to see it still going this many years later!

I live in Denver, Colorado. I hike and bike in the mountains, and am more often writing grants and website content and code than poetry these days. I have some excellent fodder in May in the form of visits to relatives and former cities, and my college reunion!

Look forward to reading and sharing words and thoughts -

Polly