"Bubbling up in our own good time-- online."
Groundwaters Publishing, LLC
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Volume 7 Issue 3
Page 14
Page 14
Four of us stooped
to chink through the tumbled outcasts.
Gleaners of cobalt ovals – Milk of Magnesia –
and Lydia Pinkham aquamarine.
This glass soothed or sliced apart lives,
and we imagine fingers dangling, the gashes
of lovers preening their scars.
Clouds in their lawn chairs shift
over our flecked tide pools.
Ft. Bragg dump trucks drove this lode
in the 40s to the end of the pier.
Now we paw the seconds, a sea
of loud buttons or Vegas slots
pouring coins into our buckets.
Mood swings, dyspepsia, remission
ride our backs with the sun while we argue
amber, citrine. Someone’s stroke will come later.
Another’s breast will be lopped.
Who’s found ruby? Who yelps a shard,
or two-thirds of an immature abalone shell--
dainty ear shape among the shimmer.
We converge to marvel at what survives
the vitreous roar.
Laid out on the table at dinner
all our fragments talk a blue streak.
to chink through the tumbled outcasts.
Gleaners of cobalt ovals – Milk of Magnesia –
and Lydia Pinkham aquamarine.
This glass soothed or sliced apart lives,
and we imagine fingers dangling, the gashes
of lovers preening their scars.
Clouds in their lawn chairs shift
over our flecked tide pools.
Ft. Bragg dump trucks drove this lode
in the 40s to the end of the pier.
Now we paw the seconds, a sea
of loud buttons or Vegas slots
pouring coins into our buckets.
Mood swings, dyspepsia, remission
ride our backs with the sun while we argue
amber, citrine. Someone’s stroke will come later.
Another’s breast will be lopped.
Who’s found ruby? Who yelps a shard,
or two-thirds of an immature abalone shell--
dainty ear shape among the shimmer.
We converge to marvel at what survives
the vitreous roar.
Laid out on the table at dinner
all our fragments talk a blue streak.
| Glass Beach By Quinton Hallett |
In Refuge from Flux, Finishing Line Press, © 2010.