Hurricane Watch
Betsy Sholl

My death is made of water, thick with sand,
that storm-gray grit, stirred up sea bottom
  where bodies drift with their blank stares,
crushed by waves like trucks bearing down
  full speed. If you survive that rip and suck,
and rise back up? You'll feel with each gust
  of wind a wave starting to curl, its glitter
of sand an ( Read more... )