Marnie Reed Crowell
Blackburnian
I have heard
in the top of the dark spruces
ringing the cove
a tiny warbler they call
"the fire-throat"
but
in the fog today
a small girl
in a spark-bright swimsuit
abandons
her brother digging clams far out on the flats
spirals
her way back
and forth
across the mud
trying out rhythms with her steps
pausing
at every measure as
she looks back over her shoulder
at the tracks.
Shadows
The moon writes
shadows on the empty beach,
one for me
and one for the sanderlings
who move like a cloud,
at the edge of my perception.
Manatee at Easter
In the warm dazzle of aquamarine
slowly you will yourself
from here to there
among the sleek and gaudy powerboats.
On your giant blurry back, scars -
a dark tale of flogging tells itself,
an epic of innocence
incomprehensible forgiveness
and undeserved doom.
I read and turn away from the painful light.
Reddish Egret
Flick out your wings,
whirling twirling
galloping bouncing by
on your carriage spring knees.
In my next life
I want to come back and dance
on all life's mud flats at low tides
as one of you.