Image of Tau Tangles in the Brain
I first see a bobolink nest—not nestled
in pasture or meadow, but floating.
Like your words seemed to do, the ends of
sentences trailing off as you searched for the right one.
I’m at sea here, you’d say—though you never liked
being out on, only close, what we call adjacent.
Waterfront property, with a path
leading right down to.
Bobolinks’ numbers are declining because of where they lay
their eggs. Fewer fields, earlier and frequent harvesting.
From long and claw and to devour. These birds disappearing
like the saltmarsh sparrow being drowned
in its delicate, spotted shell.
The patches of oily black in the image aren’t ovoidal, are too many
to be containing life. And they’ve breached the tangles, found
an opening, an inlet—a place or means of entry, or escape.
And so now there does seem more of the ocean—
its seaweed moving with the current.
Clumped, later, along the shore, just before
rotting, turning brown.
Pebbles instead of eggs, worn down smooth—glossy
against the rough grass that catches.
in pasture or meadow, but floating.
Like your words seemed to do, the ends of
sentences trailing off as you searched for the right one.
I’m at sea here, you’d say—though you never liked
being out on, only close, what we call adjacent.
Waterfront property, with a path
leading right down to.
Bobolinks’ numbers are declining because of where they lay
their eggs. Fewer fields, earlier and frequent harvesting.
From long and claw and to devour. These birds disappearing
like the saltmarsh sparrow being drowned
in its delicate, spotted shell.
The patches of oily black in the image aren’t ovoidal, are too many
to be containing life. And they’ve breached the tangles, found
an opening, an inlet—a place or means of entry, or escape.
And so now there does seem more of the ocean—
its seaweed moving with the current.
Clumped, later, along the shore, just before
rotting, turning brown.
Pebbles instead of eggs, worn down smooth—glossy
against the rough grass that catches.
Kelly R. Samuels is the author of the full-length collection All the Time in the World (Kelsay Books, 2021) and two chapbooks: Words Some of Us Rarely Use and Zeena/Zenobia Speaks. She is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee with work appearing in The Carolina Quarterly, The Pinch, Permafrost, RHINO, and The Massachusetts Review. She lives in the Upper Midwest.
Art: Moon Pumpkin, oil on paper, Paulina Swietliczko