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Ebb Tide

© HanKlu

The lake
in my dream
was not the healing one
I remember

Mutated catfish
clung to my flesh
like leeches
dingy cottages
blighted the banks
the beach
sparse, stale, contaminated

Catfish gleamed
in the healing lake
lithesome whiskers
supplely swayed
a hidden river
behind a blind of bulrushes
coursed through
wild country

The beach I knew
was cool and grainy
over and over
the ebb tide
rocked me

Joan MacIntosh lives in St. John's, Newfoundland.


Posted in: Creativity and the Arts, Poetry
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