Seed Pods
In memory of my brother
As I walk the seawall—
now a desert of barnacles—
seed pods collect in the tidal pool
and last year’s leaves lodge
in the rocks below.
My thoughts turn to leaping
we did as children—
you on the pilings of some wharf,
me on the high tide of bedrock.
The tide consumes the leftovers
of mussel beds, the sea gulping
between the rocks, and I remember
what you said to me that day—
High tide, waves lapping across
the jetty’s end and my feet as I reached
for your hand across the bay
and jumped.
Ellen Jane Powers lives on the North Shore of Boston. Her life and career have taken many twists and turns, and now she’s happily retired from corporate life. She spent 12 years on the editorial review board of a small literary journal from Maine. Her poems have appeared in a variety of journals over the years. She has a collection of poetry, Celestial Navigation (Cherry Grove) and a chapbook, Toward the Beloved (Finishing Line).
Amethyst Review 