Seascape, From Memory
by Barbara J. Petoskey
Some tantrum of a chaotic
time wrenched the
rocks, flinging mountains like a
bored child's
blocks, scattering
jabbing crags to
confront the boisterous
sea, where each
tide barges in like a drunken
sailor. One hapless wave —
its whitecap askew —
is shanghaied into the Devil's
Churn to circle
and rage, spouting misty
curses to the bilgegray sky.
My camera jammed.
The spirits there would not
have their drama bound on film.
Farther south we posed
with our backs turned trustingly
to the shoreline's sandy denouement,
the lapdog waters wriggling
in a rhythm as reassuring
as the roll of Daddy's snoring
in the other room
after a crazy dream.