Matthew Caretti
Littoral Devotions
“Tagaloa gives, Tagaloa takes,” I murmur to myself after the wind has swiped my cap. Offered it softly to the sea. The lava rock cliffs crackle with crabs. Are speckled by snails. When I move on, seabirds will descend. Pick the rocks clean.
windblown aria all the low notes of the sea
I hum along beside the runway. Toward its far end, where crags give way to white sand and a hidden cove. I wade into it. Here where the drop-off is steep. The sting of the fire coral far below. I drift. Buoyed by the salt and the tide. Then dive. Deep into a silent world.
the way back up sea turtles sketched by the sun
Washed again onto the shore, I lie motionless. Contemplate the hermit crabs savaging the calluses on my feet, the water-logged flesh between my toes. There among the abandoned bottles, sprouted coconuts and cracked buoys. Flotsam and jetsam of this ragged life.
cloud castle susurrus of coming storms
Empty pillboxes out of place and time, their slit windows wink at the sea. A fisherman waves. I rise as his silhouette arcs into each cast. Watch the long rod tilt against the setting sun. My missing cap replaced by a hand shading my eyes. A prayer bartered for his catch.
white-tailed tropicbird gliding contrails fade
About the Author
Matthew Caretti has published two books of haibun, Harvesting Stones (2017, winner of the Snapshot Press eChapbook Award) and Africa, Buddha (2022, Red Moon Press), and a book of haiku, Ukulele Drift (2023, Red Moon Press). His haibun “Deep Water Port” earned a 2023 Touchstone Award for Individual Haibun. He lives and teaches high school English in Pago Pago, American Samoa.