Crisp Sea Air

Each summer,
at the very same spot,
we rounded a curve:
crisp sea air stole our lungs--
blew them up like fire fans.
Its scent so indescribable--
chalk lines in a memory bank.
Undid the urban urine stench
of tar, exhaust, misguided moons.

The gray-haired lawn
had inner peace.
Split-ends of seaweed in our laps
made tresses for our favorite dolls.
Sandpaper tongues
undressed our dreams.
We listened as the sea unzipped
a treasure money could not buy.

"Neptune's Lair" by Shirley Malone

Graham cracker crumbs
became our shore.
Branches swerved
in muggy drafts.
Algae bearded ocean rocks
like pubic hair
we had to touch
before a coffin hoarded it.

You taught us how
to use our toes
and draw a sunset
on the beach.
The mineral bath of ocean salt--
a Viking ship
cut loose from moors.

by Janet I. Buck

Janet Buck teaches writing and literature at the college level. Her poetry, humor, and essays have appeared in The Pittsburgh Quarterly, The Melic Review, Sapphire Magazine, The Recursive Angel, Southern Ocean Review, Lynx: Poetry from Bath, Apples & Oranges, Oranges & Apples, The Rose & Thorn, Mind Fire, Astrophysicist's Tango Partner Speaks, Perihelion, Oracle, Poetry Motel, Feminista!, Calliope, The Beaded Strand, 2River View, Kimera, Free Cuisinart, In Motion, Athens City Times, Conspire, Idling, remark, BeeHive, Gravity, A Writer's Choice, Niederngasse, Shades of December, Maelstrom, The Oracular Tree, Pogonip, Poetry Today Online, Word Salad, Papyrus, Island Life, A Little Poetry, The Arm's Extent, Dead Letters, Parallax, the storyteller, the indigo pig, The Part-time Post-modernist, The Animist, and hundreds of print journals and e-zines world-wide. "On the page," she says, "is where a letter drops to its knees. Catharsis, consciousness, and insight are braided threads of a trinity, a broomstick which encourages others to swat convoluted cobwebs in attics of their own lives. Writing is a private scream with a universal echo that emerges from humble accordions of inner-need.