Grain waves of silver quiver
in afternoon ember, a forgotten pail
buried into shore, shells and bottle
glass worn against sea in cracked splendor.
That same sea remains
within thecurve of a shell, waits-
to be pressed to an ear.
Wind gust brings only more
humidity and scurrying
sand crabs, their claws
click clacking on driftwood. How strange
they come here at all.
And yet an egret’s silhouette, a mirage
to passing traffic. License plates
read: Connecticut, New Jersey,
Massachusetts. Hum of snowbird
tires on concrete.
Every year the tourists come and go
on edge of saw grass and marsh,
on pier and listen-
bluegrass gospel blares,
as red and white bobbers
lunge into waves, strangling fish
in the ocean.
Churchhill cigars light
fishermen’s russet faces, and smoke
parts sea sprayed tongues.
Overhead, pelicans worship
marlin carved in soiled hands. Longing
for brine pools
and ocean decay
in the stumbling feet
of drunken deity.
Brittany Cagle is a first-year MFA student with a focus in creative nonfiction. She earned her BA in English at Florida Gulf Coast University with minors in both journalism and creative writing. She has publications in both newspaper and online media. Her nonfiction work, “Station Fire Memoir,” has appeared in Campus Firewatch, a monthly newsletter focusing on the complex issues of campus fire safety. Her goal in the graduate program is to expand this piece of writing on the Station Night Club Fire victims.
(Remains of a) Street art sticker by DLG.
Photo by Adam Lawrence.
Coloured Clocks perform psychedelic bedroom-pop in Melbourne.