Thursday, August 27, 2015

Spa Day

I heave myself up. You have no idea 
how much muscle it takes to raise this mass 
onto the rocks. No clever monkey hands,
not me. I come from the deep water, the cold places,
and when I snatch it's with my teeth, 
and for keeps.

Still I love to sun myself:
it's worth lurching up onto the warm basalt.
I time my lift with the surge of a wave,
wriggle up - with some loss of dignity -
while the water drains away 
and my full weight makes itself known:
Twenty five hundred pounds of pinniped
can spare some pride on a spa day.


Lori Witzel said...

So, the sea lion brought to mind this poem by Elizabeth Bishop, "At the Fishhouse," and these lines:
"He has scraped the scales, the principal beauty,
from unnumbered fish with that black old knife,
the blade of which is almost worn away."

Lori Witzel said...

D'oh! Forgot a link to her poem:

Dale said...

I love that poem.

Kristen Burkholder said...

there is absolutely nothing I don't like about this poem. That is to say: well done. again. yours truly

Sabine said...

Strong stuff.