A younger sister offers masticated thumbs. Across the carpet in a high-back booth, two marrieds practice glum over their spaghetti tangle, and finally walk out hungrier. The server goes and comes, avoids the infant crawler, whose mother smiles at large and chews her slice of pepperoni. The flat gray ocean goes out forever on its tides, the same as yesterday and the day before. A seahorse saws deep water with its spiny tail, somewhere beyond the breakers.
Sunken galleons raise their bony scaffolds out of bottom mud.
There sleep the daylight men who dissolved in the service of salt. Water joins us all. A sea-flute pipes its plaint in your ear like sirens. Jackpot is up to 30 million, there's a chance in the moon in the sky to win. Her poetry appears in The Iowa Review, Free Lunch, Poetry International, Southern Humanities Review and elsewhere.