2005 Writers Forum
Jaime Curl
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Listen to an excerpt of Jaime's reading (MP3) |
photo credit: dean wong
In bent crosses the gulls flew. Our black stones
and bleached sticks
arched toward them without animus.
The seagulls so effortlessly rode the wind hiss
off the waves
we laughed. We’d cry later
into our dirty palms, and again years later
when our illusions washed out.
But that day we waited
for the loud thump
of soft, gray feathers and forgot the bruises
from our fathers
and the looks the teachers gave us
for being young and unafraid.
Stevie wasn’t so brash and walked behind,
hummed a Bob Dylan tune
and watched boats tip and tip
on the waves, way past the jetty.
We stumbled upon a seagull
that was hit and lay on its side
wheezing. The beak was open
as if it still had regrets.
Stevie had more bruises
than us all and smothered the gull
with his shoe, then nodded to the horizon
where the clouds started to gather.
Jack Straw Productions: The Audio Arts Center for the Pacific Northwest