Aerial View
Kathryn VanSpanckeren
Indian Rocks Beach, FL
So many small rectangular Mom and Pop motels
an unassuming tan, with startling turquoise
swimming pools lined up as close to the sea
as the building inspector allows.
Their postcard lives depend on the sea.
The beach is a dun strip with rows of fringes,
a fancy shawl. The gulf ripples and scallops
sand as it moves out and in
fretfully dragging its weeds, as a
widow might who depended on the sea
The high tide mark’s another fringe—
seawrack, but from here it’s a line of small
dots, like poplin people wear in old-fashioned paintings—
anonymous people. A painter’s
brush depends on the sea.
Above high tide, islands of sea oats
arrow into prevailing wind. Offshore, one shrimp boat
drags a white V. The sea, thinks the captain—
almost out of sight of land—
is bigger than the land. Depend on the sea.