Poetry

Semibalanus balanoides

Entangled on this rocky shore our feet crisscross paths that lead to lips of sea       we are watched by countless barnacles     shields closed in the salty air   underwater their cirri bloom    and comb for particles   tremble in the mechanics of microscopy      organs perfectly arranged on a spread of rocks the bigger whiter ones are hard to find the treat of dogwhelks harpooners           of the shore      when the water cools     we retrace babysteps on this encased bay   we knew nothing of nature                     all these carpets could have been lichen or rock or nothing      grandmother crochets intricate tablecloths patterns              hold together our twilight she weaves winter into stale-smelling albums   where photo corners lost their contents               brown rolls of film coiled into white plastic time capsules     at the back of a drawer in a disused room     I am forbidden to touch them      unraveled against light distant relatives parade their intimacy            family holidays by the mud-coloured sea        the sand bleached without particles or definition   in dusk light we are sepia too    the vista loses its vibrancy barnacles dissolve into a mass spread like sheets of crochet on the rocks our feet and hands interlaced with landscape     there is a sense of urgency in the water barnacles feel the return   their cirri swell inside in anticipation     hardly any white ones this far north            they have disappeared in the intricacies   of a pale green coating perhaps we too should blend in bear    the marks of something gone contained in the visceral depths of a drawer     where men and women more or less clothed pretend they are related to us    grandmother’s crochet tablecloths have large  circular patterns of sea oak sea lettuce and family trees         but the cold water barnacles should outnumber the rest

Vera Fibisan