bides along the Aegean Sea. Corrugated
metal sides, nailed to a splintered pine frame,
reflect morning sun between posts that stand
askew. Rough random pieces of lumber
secure a swayback roof of old canvas
flaps and a cinderblock to frustrate the wind.
The foundation’s an ancient strand and the back—
part of a continuous stacked stone seawall
that offers hallowed refuge and a new
world inside. I’m drawn near, as if it’s what
my future self needs to see. I peek inside—
rolls of rope, an anchor, a dirty bucket,
reverent gaps that breathe and transmit blue
over an unsheathed filet knife, a few baskets,
some battered buoys and a view that washes
a spirit clean. Beside the shed, a wooden
steering wheel, chair, wedge and a large spool
nestle under two gnarled cypress trees.
No one lives here. I consider entering.
There’s neither resistance nor encouragement.
Water slaps shiny blue and gray marble stones.
Inside, I glimpse a spot of grace. The tide rises.
by Molly O’Dell
Molly O’Dell loves being outdoors, her primary influencer. She received an MFA from University of Nebraska, has published a chapbook, Off the Chart, a multi-genre collection, Care is A Four Letter Verb, and Unsolicited: 96 Saws and Quips in the Wake of the Pandemic, which was published for her public health colleagues.
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