Linda Jeannette Ward

small time

The small seaside cottage where i once found solitude and respite from the world was demolished by Hurricane Floyd. Now the neighboring cottage that once stood well back from the tideline is in danger of being taken by the next big storm. Yet I’m relieved to have this alternate retreat to turn to, and pause from unloading the car to rest on the deck awhile, remembering my first spring along this narrow strip of the Outer Banks, bordered by ocean and sound . . .

          moonpath—
the glitter of thrashing fish
         sifted through

Washing a few dishes, I watch a smalltime fishing operation from my cottage window; nets are hauled by a hand-turned crank that sits in the back of a rusty pick-up, the tide gently pulling packed sand from around its back wheels. Their catch seems slight this moonrise and later, just before bed, I check on their progress again . . .

    moonclouds—
a man and a woman
asleep at the wheel

As I make morning coffee I see that once again the nets have been dragged to shore . . .

         rainbow of scales
through brightly colored mesh—
           laundry baskets

An early walker and her dog pause to watch the baskets being loaded onto the bed of the truck, a bountiful catch that overflows. Before driving off, the couple canvass the beach for spilled fish, but a few are missed . . .

over the ones that got away
           her black lab
         paws to the sky