I’m in NY and days have been packed, but here’s another poem from Poetry Daily, originally published in Carolina Quarterly. I especially like the way the poem uncurls, half-hidden, like memory itself.
Allegory
My mother strokes the sand
toward her with her palm, drawing
the story out, then levels it
back with the edge of her hand.
All the while
a ghost crab, half-hidden
under a canopy of crisped
sargassum, so well-camouflaged
it’s just a blur of movement,
has been sidling in and out
its tunnel, forming identical boulders
of damp sand to stack
at the entrance,
a bulwark. The story
is a stone she collects
from the tideline of the past.
Continue reading “Tuesday and Monday’s poem”