written By
An ancient bottle of Cholula hides
in the cargo hold of my galley’s
cold shelves. I dump it overboard
into the sink, survey limp celery
and carrots in the hydrator, notice
their leaves, slimy as seaweed,
then settle down to make coffee—
I tip in the last dredges of plant-based milk.
From the bridge of my porch, I chart
the stars adrift on a waking sky,
the moon a silver medallion anchored
to the mast of the radio tower.
As the sun begins to stretch its claws
into day, eating up shadows,
swells of smoke rise from chimneys
like prayers for Poseidon. My neighbor walks
her aging chihuahua, Sir Charles,
along the line of homes,
a tiny rear admiral, marking each berth
with the scent of the sea.
