oysters we plucked
from the pier with bare
hands, and a blood moon —
who trusted us with her
secrets. a sea wolf loping
along infinite shoreline.
we took turns
feeding the fire, which
crackled through hours when
even God was asleep. these days,
we gather creek water
and press our hearts
to whispers of moss, slowly
like rust,
like sourdough rising.
i wrote this poem while visiting friends on Quadra Island, BC. We stayed in their 300 square foot rustic cabin, which had only an outdoor shower. it was January, and it happened to be a week when snow blanketed the earth (rare on the island). when i arrived, the water pipes froze. no heat, no water, just us inhabiting a snowy expanse of forest on this remote island — it was exhilarating.
so we washed dishes in the creek and kept warm by burning logs and i know we aren’t supposed to explain poems but i wanted to this time. that visit felt like a remembering. i wrote the above poem in my cot by the fire, in that little home, with their dog Fernie snuggled into me. she kept me extra warm. the photo was taken by my friend Shelby one morning, as we braved the snow and biting ocean wind to greet a rare winter sun.
Everything you write is so beautiful
Magical