Monday: Seabirds And Seals

flee as wave rushes in
flock back as it recedes
sanderlings

~ Christina Chin
The Haiku Foundation 11 July 18

no fishing within
two nautical miles
the seagulls laugh

~ Christina Chin
The Haiku Foundation 17 July 18

Winter afternoon

The sky is a piece of paper,
crumpled and smoothed out
by grubby hands, smeared
with grey, mottled by time
all meaning rubbed away
the gull is a blade,
slicing through the air,
each feather sharpened
by the wind, each turn
drawing blood
the sky is a dirty
sheet of paper.
the gull is a
feathered blade.
sky
paper
gull
blade

-Sarah Connor

-Soo Finch

A Beach Memoir

When we were two pearls
we lay across an oyster-tongue.
Juice filled us. Teeth bracketed
us, tender, our kernels.

We rode that tongue,
crusted shell, lavender world,
complete.

Sea spray, sun sheeted
sky mauve. Gull swooped, dove,
striated stripes blue, gray-veined,

and pearl, we plummeted
through storm-clouds
to break upon granite strand.
Laughter, the way of scavengers.
Empty shards, strewn pearls,

silent tongue. Story scribed
across sky, swooping black scratches,
disappearing ink. Explosion, epilogue.
Nobody to remember.

-Rachael Ikins