Alison Clare
They found the carcass on the beach and walked
amongst its bones and sleek salty flesh
through the gaping mouth of death
darkness and rows of luggage once precious
now lost they took lamps of oil and held handkerchiefs
to their faces the stench of blood as rich as its color in life
washed away by sea foam and moon tides pink flesh crawling
with the clatter of sand crabs
Each case was opened one by one with gloved hands
blistering leather and rusting latches safe from the rot
of water and the curse of time a watch a necklace of gems a white
dress shoes by the dozen plenty of whiskey
two stuffed rabbits a manuscript unpublished loaded
onto the back of carts and dragged away
from the black sand of the beach
When the tideline rose they rolled the slippery body back into the waves
One man became crushed beneath its weight and drowned
***
Alison Clare is a recent graduate of Loyola Marymount University, where she completed her Masters in English, writing poetry under the guidance of Gale Wronsky and Sarah Maclay. She lives in Los Angeles with her bearded husband, neurotic rescue dogs, and non-bearded/happy baby daughter.