Poem by Committee Member Nancy Carey

Late Thoughts on

an August Afternoon

　

I don’t want to fall

down the steps

to the sea

where the bleached

bones

of the sailors lie

beyond all touch.

I want to ride

the school of fish

buried in the swell

watch a crab crawl

from a water cave

feel barnacled pebbles

that shift my feet

and algae bloom

on pimpled rocks.

I want to find

the teal blue ocean-glass

sea-blown onto sand

jagged edges smoothed

by salt wave weather tide.

And if aging beauties

hold the treasured necklace

to their throats

on this spit of land

under the newborn sun

seaweed woven

in their dying hair

they simply want to dream

of rage and time

before the bony

sailors come.