Poem with Snowy Plovers

By BRIAN SIMONEAU 

April’s only days
away. The wind strokes
sandstone cliffs, the cove
empty except for
snowy plovers.
A grain of sand
brings tears. An ocean
is beautiful
in its cruelty—last
week, currents swept
someone out to sea—
so I’m watching
for rogue waves, don’t
notice the puddle
that soaks my shoe.
I’m able to laugh
at almost all of it.
Squinting against
the sun as it breaks
through, I watch wind-
whipped waves, a host
of birds taking flight.

Poem with Snowy Plovers

Related Posts

How Living Looks

ARIEL CHU 
The three of us—Frances, Jay, and I—live in this rain-slick city, concrete buildings stained with runoff. At night, the streets stretch like black pools, glossy with reflected traffic lights. We stumble around half-closed night markets with our snapped umbrellas and damp socks.

California street

Ode to a California Neck Tattoo

JOSE HERNANDEZ DIAZ
A man in a Chicano Batman shirt got a tattoo of the state of California on his neck. He rode his longboard to the tattoo parlor early in the morning. This was going to be his third tattoo. He also had a tattoo of palm trees on his chest and a skeleton on a surfboard on his calf.

Image of train station

E.A. Robinson Leaves by Rail

ABBIE KIEFER
Raw granite and brick, hip roof like a helmet. At its height, it hummed: seventeen trains daily, lumbering in along the river. I imagine E.A. here with his ticket and his trunk. With his back to the brick, listening for a whistle.