by JOHN GREY
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I'm poking around in the murky waters of an oyster bed. Fingers burrow in sand. I think I've found something. A shell, surely. I can feel it yawn open. I'm touching textures soft and prickly. I feel a tiny lancet. It penetrates. It stings. I'm starting to choke. My head grows dizzy. My chest constricts. Knees are wobbly. It's another weekend at the beach. Blue ocean, blue sky, white wave tops, gray rocks, gulls and sunbathers and children making sand castles... and, in case I forget, a guy drowning in two feet of water... |
John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in International Poetry Review, Sanskrit and the science fiction anthology, “The Kennedy Curse” with work upcoming in Freshwater, Paterson Review and Nerve Cowboy.
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