Millie’s summer vacation
At Wrightsville Beach the untidiness
of her desire washes up one June,
a sullen creature lost on a bad tide.
It is nearly dark and the Atlantic
demands the remains of light
that glimmer above the water.
The fishermen see it first, gasping
there in the spindrift and wonder
if their hooks might hold it.
She, on the other hand, turns
her back on the creature,
the tilt-a-whirl that spins
against the now black sky,
tossing constellations like neon
confetti. It is no surprise to her.
This ungainly flotsam had been
her familiar for so long.
Moonlight reveals too much
The gelatinous heap trembles,
calls to mind a human heart.
She knows that she must claim it.
In the end she shoves it roughly
into her little creel, like bait.