Issue 6:
Sea
Janet I. Buck
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Antique Qualms
The single penny of a sun
demurs to darkness once again.
A flock of hungry pelicans
engages in the salty foam
enduring as an ivory moon.
They act as though their wings
are swimming through the air.
Tiny dimples in the clouds--
small as raisins shrink from grapes.
I see our chins at water's edge
like conches with their flaws
and sand and simmerings.
The beach, a stretch of folded skin
on bodies bigger than our own.
We're heading out to
close this gap of silences.
Cognizant of catch and flight.
Antique qualms of childhood
where Father's eyes were aureoles--
doom and damn and rulers
of incompetence.
Blowing out the ancient ghosts
like candles on a birthday cake.
Baggage of our heritage
in finely wrought comparison,
semi-precious yellow stone,
its value soiled by our fears.
Coming out from under rocks,
years are diamonds roughly cut.
Prisms of some memories
contain a brand of blinding light.
But we are missioners of clay
with shaping on our stooping frames.
Making sure that death
won't eat us as we sleep.
Victims of the beckoning
between a vein and pounding heart.
Making sculptures of an hour
before the wetness disappears.
~Janet I. Buck
Janet teaches writing and literature at the college level. Her poetry appears in hundreds of publications online and in print. Visit her website for information on her CDs, books, readings, and appearances. Email.
© 2001 by Janet I. Buck. All Rights Reserved.
© 2000-2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated April 24, 2002.