Slate
washes ashore
with the patina
of old maps of Michigan.
Gulls scream in formation
at the promise of discarded crusts of bread
and fear of oncoming thunder.
It’s late July,
and mist rises,
vaporizing phantom ships in the distance,
veiled,
primordial,
like they’ve been keeping watch
on the shoreline since Moses.
They disappear now
into the space
where land, air, and water meet.
Weather swallowing boats
at the end of the world.
Afternoon at the Beach Before the Storm
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About the Author
I am a writer of a certain age, foraging enthusiast, philanthropy professional, and occasional insomniac. My poetry has appeared in Twyckenham Notes, Cathexis Northwest Press, and the Blue Mountain Review and I enjoyed a residency at the Writers' Colony in Dairy Hollow in November 2019. I am also the editor of the new literary compendium, A Construction of Cranes (Plastic Flame Press, 2020). I live in Chicago with my husband and our plain brown dog.
