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Fisherman’s Beach

ISSUE:  Fall 2013

No tide pools, no couples on the beach
where my parents met,

only whitecaps bowing and lifting,
until each blurs into itself.

A workday of gulls circling trawlers,
indecipherable buoys. Walking home,

we carry this Sabbath with us,
carry it like gossip, the old prophesies

read aloud and followed
across the page, each syllable

said correctly or repeated until it is.


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