Poetry by Jael
Unlikely Gifts
by jael bietsch

She carries with her
beaches, the slip and trickle
behind her voice. It comes down
to water with her, and gathering
unlikely gifts.

That windy January
something swimmed the lake,
and a parallel something smaller, ever slow
swimming the rough. What,
besides seal, survives this cold.
Perhaps her lawn chair.

Winter brings her new
beaches, the strand ever
evolving in the lens
moving full
circle, like the moon
that draws her. Perhaps she
will have changed
how she remembers.

Dunes of shells returned
to the lake, unlikely shards
of wine swept away to the gathering
place of such gifts. She shelves
another smashed glass waiting
for ceremony to soften indescretion.

Today's gift: bloated fish,
lake bottom silt, rain. Hoarding
red glass, turning
edges at the bottom, blood
water pearls for her

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    ©: 1995 Jael Bietsch

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    March 8, 2000