NESTING
Alex Thomas
I.
Look at all the beautiful
horizons. She means
the dozens of sunsets slipping
in the windows, fractured
gold on the living room floor.
like an ancient
fire. From beneath huddled
sheets, we can hear the sea
pushing itself upon the North
Carolina shore. Thundering
softly within the evening.
A large gust of water rattles
the dying sky peeking in
on the first Turtle night.
II.
After dark they will move themselves
upon the land. Through
the waves and the sea air
and the starlight that has replaced
the sun. Leaving behind
offspring in holes that they have
built—divided
the sand into ports. Massive
III.
creatures, the size of billiard tables,
built for water, but beaching
for the minutes
necessary to continue life. Then gone,
swallowed by the same
waves that birthed them. We
watch from the window as the bodies
move as if the sand
itself has come alive. No lights
tonight; lamps and televisions
will frighten
the Loggerhead and the Hawksbill
and the giant Leatherback.
IV.
They travel in the dark, like aged
sailors. Their backs a canvas
of scars from sharks
and boat propellers and other
underwater demons. The silent
orchestra playing all along
this strip of sand on the very cliff
of the continent. The morning
V.
will reveal patches of disturbed
land where their underbellies
found ground. And fins moved
through a terrain they were
not evolved for. Tourists and scientists
gasping at the miracle. And her and I
in bed together. Recreating
it ourselves.
Alex Thomas is a journalist living in Washington DC where he writes about news and politics for Rare.us. He is quite obsessed with records, books, coffee and all things Seinfeld. You can find his poetry in Kentucky Review, Slipstream, Red Paint Hill, and elsewhere.
