Plum Island

Which are you going to do, small plovers?
Run for cover, or take the plunge? Neither;
you just hover at the shoreline, where waves
smooth and resmooth the sand, til it’s as raw
as scraped calfskin. Little poem makers . . . 
What are you writing, plovers? With your feet
stamping cuneiform into the beach:
malisons against seals, paeans to great
birds of bygone years. “These are our stories,”
you peep. “May they never be forgotten.”
Until the next tide. Where are your lovers,
plovers? Where are your children, your parents?
Do you write to them, of them, for them? Your
white pages are punctuated by spoor.

Zachary Bos is an alumnus of the poetry workshops at the Boston University graduate creative writing program and publisher of Pen & Anvil Press. He’s taught poetry reading and writing workshops in collegiate, community, and prison settings for more than a decade. His work as a writer and translator has appeared in publications including Berfois, Eyewear, Fulcrum, The Christian Science Monitor, Elsewhere, Public Pool, and Istok.