Walking Barefoot, August

By GAIL MAZUR

The flats mid-morning.
Fussy little house-hunting hermit crabs.

Razor clams, skate eggs, black mussels.
Sea glass frosted by the tides.

Far out, schooners, racers, sloops—
Serenity of their white white sails.

Day moon, round, faint, almost transparent,
Hovering in the pale blue sky,

In its orbit still so near the sun.

Seven years alone by the bay.

An old friend, a neighbor, stumbling,
Has lost her way on the sands.

There’s always tomorrow.
There’s always something left to lose.

Something here is blowing bubbles.
Something’s forever burrowing.

 

Gail Mazur has published seven collections of poetry. They Can’t Take That Away from Me was a finalist for the National Book Award. Zeppo’s First Wife: New and Selected Poems was the winner of The Massachusetts Book Prize and a finalist for both the Los Angeles Times Book Prize and the Paterson Poetry Prize. 2016’s Forbidden City is her most recent collection. Her poems have been widely anthologized, including in several Pushcart Prize anthologies, Best American Poetry, and Robert Pinsky’s Essential Pleasures. A graduate of Smith College, she has received fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Bunting Institute of Radcliffe College, and the Radcliffe Institute. She was, for twenty years, Distinguished Senior Writer in Residence in Emerson College’s graduate program and now teaches in Boston University’s MFA program and at the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown, where she has served for many years on the Writing Committee.

[Purchase Issue 18 here.]

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

Walking Barefoot, August

Related Posts

Two Poems by Hendri Yulius Wijaya

HENDRI YULIUS WIJAYA
time and again his math teacher grounded him in the courtyard to lower / the level of his sissyness. the head sister chanted his name in prayer to thwart // him from playing too frequently with girl classmates. long before he’s enamored with the word / feminist

Dispatch: Two Poems

SHANLEY POOLE
I’m asking for a new geography, / something beyond the spiritual. // Tell me again, about that first / drive up Appalachian slopes // how you knew on sight these hills / could be home. I want // this effervescent temporary, here / with the bob-tailed cat // and a hundred hornet nests.

cover of paradiso

May 2025 Poetry Feature: Dante Alighieri, translated by Mary Jo Bang

DANTE ALIGHIERI
In order that the Bride of Him who cried out loudly / When He married her with His sacred blood / Might gladly go to her beloved / Feeling sure in herself and with more faith / In Him—He ordained two princes / To serve her, one on either side, as guides.