Thursday, May 26, 2016


A poem written where land meets the ocean.


Are we rescuing 
the shells 
from the grinding waves 
and the homogenizing sun, 
or starving he beach 
of milky sand? 
The oceanic currents 
provide a harvest 
of food and thought 
beneath a blurred band of stars. 
Sifting through 
the broken and intact, 
eyes twitch 
for sea olives
(not edible), 
slipper shells
(not wearable), 
silent fiddler crab claws, 
and lion's paws, 
whose fierceness 
dulls with the tides.

-Robert L. Jackson III

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