Poetry Wednesday

Memory Foam

They knew of no shores,

but still

they washed up

expelled by the sea with such tenderness

that they slept,

still,

and She,

dreaming of an old horse and He,

the boat they had named for it

when it lay on the barn floor in winter

disintegrating

there was no barn

there was no horse and the quiet sea

held no boat.

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:

Shells

by Elaine Terranova

In the heat, in the high grass
their knees touched as they sat
crosslegged facing each other,
a lightness and a brittleness
in their bodies. They touched
like shells. How odd

that I should watch them say goodbye.
What did it have to do with me?

There was my own stillness
and the wasps and the tiny flies
for a long time taking stitches
in the surrounding air and

a comfort I felt, as the wind
tore through, to find the trees
miraculously regaining their balance.