The Moya View


Image credit: Cynthia Gladis from the series ‘720 South Carolina.

The palms glow infrared in the night.
The city has set up tables and chairs
under them so the citizens can
feel the breeze and watch the tide.

The stick fence held together by razor wire
that separated the street from the shore use
to be longer until the hurricane blew the gate
away. What’s left, bends against the breeze.

The clouds form soaring sea eagles
thrusting out light talons to the few crabs
scuttling to the safety of the mangrove line.

A woman in a long white beach dress,
watches the fear parade from the boardwalk.
Her hair flashes forward, slightly beyond
the gentle arch of her lithe body.

For a moment she thinks she can command
these raptors back to their nest. But there
are more clouds. There are sharp rocks.

And the unseen red heat of the night,
swirling around her girl in the black pram,
crying for her mother to push her home, away
from the facing tide, the fear huddling behind.





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