Poem: Work

Image of a small grey Fiddler Crab with a large yellow left claw standing on sand.
Photo by Denise Chan via Flickr.

Work

Once
I kept so still
that the Fiddler crabs
whose burrows lay inches from my toes
decided that I bore them no threat
and emerged to resume their digging,
brandishing distorted claws,
sorting grains of sand with infinitesimal clicks,
the air full of their collective scuttle.

I swear I thought
they would scatter
at the vibrations
of my pulse
as it echoed
through my feet
into the tidal mud.

But they kept at it,
as compelled to their labor
as I was to squat
and watch.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s