An Experiment with Kelp
—for Eva
Brown-yellow ribbon, draped on gray, rounded stones,
boils of air trapped in its skin,
glistening salt-wet as the surf bumps and rolls it,
folds and flips it toward my feet.
This wrinkled khaki tube opens on one end,
closes on the other to a pointed reddish-hued tail.
Placed on a drift log, it jumps like paper
as the wind dries it, leaching color and sand.
A fisherman blasts my meditation:
“Sir,” (he says, sir), “What are you doing?”
“I’m doing a writing exercise.”
“About what?”
“About his,” I say, shoving
the naked brown strip to his face.
He’s confused for a moment, then grows serious,
“Sir,” he says again, “Whatever you do,
Don’t put that in your sandwich.”
—Mike Burwell