Scott Withiam
POEMS
 

On Reminscing


Dear friend, I was just present
at our last beach trip
how many summers back? We spotted
a surf clam then, and then . . .

now: like any clam, the constant pressure
to completely suck
every speck from wherever landed.
We cherish life so much

that we wish to sample it all
again. That surf clam
unfurled a wicked orange tongue called a foot
stretching double the shell's size,

which helped it step
into the sweep of a passing wave.
As we do. As I am doing.
And wasn't the far off

made bright and beautiful by a train of clouds?
“One helluva way to travel!” you said,
of the clam. We followed it till someone called us in.
As happens. As it will.