Edisto

We have been to this place before.

The old cabin facing the marsh,

The sulfur tasting water for tea

The thick white mugs.

The dock sporting the torn ropes

Of crab traps and fishing lines,

The carved initials and hearts

On the splintered railings

,

The dolphins who pop up

To speak in their fish tongues,

The turtles who return

From their secret ocean voyages,

Leaving their children

To struggle out to sea,

The little foxes

Who come at night

To raid their nests,

The small and large

Tragedies of the shore.

I step out again

To kindle the cooking fire

In my magic coat

Of pollen and ashes.