The mile-long breakers threaded north-south thump against the western
shore. An afternoon of
little wind and the shook foil of water is sparked by a thousand fallen suns. In their brilliance, I try to measure September’s failing days, anxious to hold them and seine agates, shells, ancient sand dollar fossils roiling invisibly below the surf. Never assume, I remind myself kneeling on ice plant, because all beauty is promised to darkness as quartz and granite are ground to sand, so a life erodes beneath breakers and fallen light; yet, when the sun is low, even a single grain of sand casts an angular, heart-stopping shadow.
Prowl & Growl
of a Feline Susan Terris
Brown and
wrinkled, mane dyed lion-gold Leopard-like sunspots on her limbs Belly low, feet bare, eyes at half-mast,
she growls at me when I
mention treasure we
buried in my veggie garden when we were 12 but not exactly kissin’ cousins
Still the same age: I, who
wanted a canoe to
paddle, and she, with balls, wanted only to play golf every day or contract bridge
For me a bridge is to paddle
under or to dare
crossing the tressle with train tracks as I walk on the slates between the rails
She always cat-like with
carnal yawps as she
raked my face with her sharp claws, but we did dig deep to bury our treasure
Coins, rocks, shells and a
slice of fruitcake,
planning we’d dig it up in 20 years But my old house was sold, and she yowls, shows her teeth when I suggest
we ask
if we can go behind the new folks garage to dig up our treasure. Animal-like she’d rather chase balls, little white ones, while I kayak, seek new trails to climb
Born 4 weeks apart, we are not
alike I hunt, search,
often try to kill with words as I prowl and howl. Her animal self is timid now and tame. Mine, though, is still wild
