The Inlet

The bench is damp, dewed by morning rain;
Splintered wood chiseled with initials.

Huge shoeprints; a man was here.

A group of white pelicans preens on the shore.
They shuffle as I stand.

Mandarin bills turn toward the inlet.
Lifting their sails they go adrift, crossing water aluminum-blue.

Another dozen trail a two-man skiff.

A speed boat; green waves jaunt toward shore.
They hiss greetings to one another; confab on shell-laden sand.

Blue sky; purple-gray clouds hugging a distant treeline.

The water relaxes now, gossiping sea-foam puffs.
Macerated planktonic remains.

An osprey hovers, appearing and disappearing
through wafting strands of Spanish moss.

Does “wafting” sound pretentious?

Sunlit grasses frame the shady alcove.
Glowing golds and winter’s spring-green.

It was hard to loiter. To relax with my thoughts.
But now I don’t want to leave.

The buzz and choke of a private plane, forcing itself skyward.

Another boat; a figure stands, waving off the mob.
It churns in a wheel of flapping wings.

The aroma of life stirred in the ocean’s soup.

Who is JBA, and why the need to announce he was here?

My hands chill and my eyes fall.

The man brought a dog.


Poem by Carol Fullerton-Samsel
Artwork by Martina_Bulkova of Pixabay


Published by cafsamsel

Carol Fullerton-Samsel is a nearly-native Floridian who lives with her husband of 25 years and three rescue animals. She is a [mostly] vegan, alcohol-free, [relatively] caffeine-free, Buddhist writer and day-hiker. Her novel, The Clones of Langston, was a Reader’s Favorite medalist and a New Century Writer Awards finalist. It tells the story of cloned workers who are abandoned to form their own society. As the facility housing them erodes, they discover a challenging new world—our own.

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