Return to Top of Page
Menu
  • Close
  • About Us
  • Contributors
  • Donate
  • Opportunities
  • Staff
  • Submissions
  • 20 Years
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Instagram
  • Search Website
Literary Mama
  • Current Issue
  • Past Issues
  • Departments
  • Blog
  • Newsletter

Poetry | June 2016

Home

By Sarah Kilch Gaffney

I point out the mass,
a foot from shore
amidst the swirling
of the incoming tide.

She crouches low
to examine the milky
center, silky tentacles luminous
in the late afternoon sun.

Gently, I press its flesh
with a stick of driftwood,
thinking it upside down
and in need of rescue,

but its body
is an illusion,
and I am mistaken.
Fitting, I think,

having just watched her scatter
her father’s ashes across the sand
with youth’s exuberance,
flinging and skipping and

singing as the heat-lightened
dust and bits of bone
sifted downward,
found home.

 

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Share This Page

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Email
  • Copy Link

Sarah Kilch Gaffney

Learn More

Subscribe to Our Newsletter

Don't miss out on Literary Mama news and updates

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Instagram
  • Instagram
  • RSS

© 2023 Literary Mama | Search Site | About Us | Staff | Submissions | Privacy Policy