‘If not agates, then barnacles, if not / sweet-smelling seaweed, then shattered shells./ The traveler need not journey on. // If not mussels, then sea glass, if not // smooth surfaces, then rocks pocked by anemones. / The traveler’s journey is one of return.’
December 1, 2015
Agate Beach
The traveler need not journey on.
The traveler’s journey is one of return.
If not agates, then barnacles, if not
sweet-smelling seaweed, then shattered shells.
The traveler need not journey on.
If not mussels, then sea glass, if not
smooth surfaces, then rocks pocked by anemones.
The traveler’s journey is one of return.
A dead Dungeness crab bobs in the spume.
Waterlogged, it still rises and falls.
The traveler’s journey is one of return.
The traveler need not journey on.
In a tidal pool, an orange sea star
supplies a sun for another sky.
The traveler’s journey is one of return.
We rinse the sand from our souvenirs
and lose half the agates in our hands.
The traveler need not journey on.
We take what we can, rain boots filled
with rocks and shells. We carry our wet socks.
The traveler need not journey on.
The traveler’s journey is one of return.
Index
once I had
long black hair
I confess
that it was
beautiful
wait this is
a poem
once I had
beautiful
long hair and
a baby
I confess
I hungered
wait this is
a poem
about how
once I had
a baby
and I was
still hungry
I confess
I wanted
another
I confess
I wanted
two babies
wait I should
say how I
tried to have
another
and it died
I confess
I tried for
another
after that
I confess
it died in
me too I
confess two
babies died
inside me
wait let me
tell you once
I cut my
long black hair
I confess
that it was
beautiful
