Sunflower Sea Star
Old Home Beach, Trinidad, California, June 17, 2007
Luminous on dark wet sand, like a tiger lily
in redwoods’ shadow. Left behind by low tide,
over two feet wide.
A central disk and twenty arms
radiating from it, moving in graceful ripples,
while the tube feet on their underside extended and retracted.
A dance, I hoped, not a cry for help.
Awe, and a wish to wash away
the sand on your surface,
bring out the bright orange dotted with white spines,
willing the tide, just turned,
to rise faster, kiss your arms, take you back.
Six years later, a wasting syndrome appeared,
spread, wiped sea stars from the West Coast.
"Functionally extinct" scientists say,
and search for a way to reverse your decline,
so you can swallow purple sea urchins,
sea urchins stop devouring kelp,
and the kelp forest can survive.
I must record this
or I will soon think you were a dream.
Why didn’t I wait to see you off? Did I leave
to avoid being saddened by your departure?
No beachside breeze foretold that first encounter
would be, to date, our only.
I still look for you at low tide, luminous
like a tiger lily in redwoods’ shadow.
Simona Carini was born and grew up in Italy. She writes poetry and nonfiction (memoir, food, the outdoors) and has been published in various venues, online and in print, including the Amethyst Press anthology Thin Places & Sacred Spaces (2024). Her first poetry collection Survival Time was published by Sheila-Na-Gig Editions (2022). She lives in Northern California with her husband, loves to spend time outdoors, and works as an academic researcher. Her website is https://simonacarini.com
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