After a Storm on Oliver Bay

by Charlotte F.Otten

Bald broken branches and gull feathers
wipe out the radiant energy of the beach,
upturned roots of aspens
spread ghostly fingers in the sky
fumbling for a lost foundation.

Leaves swollen by waves
bloat the disheveled shore,
shove old-smelling memories
into Homer’s nervous lines,
bearing mortality’s ancient angst.

Only blueberries have survived,
swallowing storms as naturally as air,
transforming water into wine
that recalls a wedding in Cana,
and me on my knees swilling handfuls.