Thursday, February 02, 2006

For Reya

The lovely Reya of Grace's Poppies had declared an online poetry reading today. I used to write a lot of poetry, first when I was a kid (when I tended to be less self-conscious about my creative writing) and then, again, when I lived in Russia. I kept all my Moscow verse in a small wooden box in my linen cabinet. Unfortunately, I lost it all in my move back to the United States, and I haven't been much of a poet since then.

However, after a spur of the moment trip to the beach a few years ago, I wrote this. I think I posted this out here a long time ago, but, what the hell. This is for you, Reya - thanks for the nice thought of sharing poems today!


Maryland Eastern Shore, Summer 1999

How did we find this place?
A shack in a parking lot
With ambiance spilling from
Cheap Christmas lights and rolls of
Paper towels on picnic tables
We both have sun-tightened faces
Sand stuck between toes and
Filtered through hair
Old Bay sticks to my fingers as I
Fumble with my box lid of crabs
Steaming in the night scented with
Sea spray and suntan lotion
“The males have aprons”
You say, cracking a shell with
Practiced ease
Crabs are a mystery to my
Midwestern mind
So much work for
So little meat
Next time I want the shrimp

3 comments:

Washington Cube said...

I love this, and I love the illustration you chose to go with it.

Reya Mellicker said...

I love this!! Next time I want the shrimp, too.

Thank you so much for posting, and especially for posting something you wrote yourself. Wow.

Gwen said...

Mmmm...I'm licking the Old Bay off my fingers just reading it. Made me feel like I was there.

And I'll stick up a hand for the shrimp next time, too. Crab is hard.