When Company Comes

To leave themselves

The shore in late afternoon in winter sang the shells of a season of arriving tides, drumming the fragments of entire homes these creatures left behind. We walked through them in February when it was cold and you stopped on your knees before them, collecting. The awe on your face with each find. A week later the machines arrived to dredge sand over it all, to smooth the surface for the summer season––to make it, as one spokesperson said, nice for our visitors.

Cornered

From a tight space.

Call it a threat––back against two walls, but some dream best from spaces like this. If I wanted to hide, I could walk in the open, but only from here can I bear witness to being, the intricate choreography of shadows, swinging between the arms of a branching angle. Turning from one wall into to the next, I find the other half of this shell, enough to negate the noise of a universe with its effusive unknowns, and hear, between breaths, the song of a single house finch. 

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Inspired by, and using borrowed phrases from, the chapter “Corner” in Gaston Bachelard’s The Poetics of Space.

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