KELP They drift in pods on water petal to petal each a floating skin. Flowered brown encrustations they move side to side. Glistened blades Stalk by stalk they branch separate directions. They thrive in salt life support seaweed used for iodine. So little we see on top beneath lies tangled webs layer upon layer a mangled helix on a serpent’s head, a crammed, yarn skein. Tight-twined sphere like our riddled mortal enigma we gnash against star charted rock, Laminariales—imagine snare.
Florence Murry’s poetry has appeared Stoneboat, Mainstreet Rag, Southern California Review, Two Hawks Quarterly, earlier in The Black Buzzard Review (Florence Bohl) and elsewhere. She is currently working on a poetry manuscript called Last Run Before Sunset.