The sun brushes the morning and, like the eagle,
I leave my perch and plunge beneath the surface naked.
I climb back quickly, news of the shark killing
fresh among the year’s terrors.
You rise and join me for the next one.
Our own suits protect us.
Breakfast – triumphant
from our sliver of deck on this world.
We lounge in our skin folds in the early burning sun,
anchored in 16 feet of good holding ground
and all the little hairs drying on my flesh.
In a familiar hold of my mind, I own this harbor.
—
Jeanne L. Bamforth has had poems published in Balancing Act 2, an Anthology of Poems by Maine Women (Littoral Books), Northern New England Review, and Stone Poetry Quarterly, and accepted by Willows Wept Review and the Philly Poetry Chapbook Review. She lives and writes on Merrymeeting Bay, an inland confluence of six rivers near the coast of Maine.
