Fiction & Poetry Journal of T. Wong
Among the children picking up shells,
she combed the sand for bits of sea glass.
Carefully rifling through colors
from Mosel green to yellow amber,
she considered each earnestly,
hoping to discover the perfect tint
in which to view the world.
An old woman who had never seen the sea
cherished a spotted shell.
At night, when the world was shadowed and quiet,
she would cradle it against her ear
and sway to the whispering surf.
Her mind floated, aloft
on warm waters
the color of topaz.
stars above
a still, gray sea
who combs her faded hair
and old lovers
from her thoughts
desolate shores slip
sand beneath toes
as the fisherman’s wife
digs for clams
tattered sails leave me
shipwrecked
in a sea I once roamed
A small tugboat felt itself
lesser than the great ships
that crossed the channel.
It never left the shore
although, like all others,
it was created seaworthy.
sycophantic yes-men
bob their heads
in nervous
oceanic time
