Home

A year on from completion on the new home. I didn’t imagine I’d still be wrangling with the old landlord. I’ve been looking into the finer details of everything and working out a bit about the small claims procedure.

The Hermit Crab (by Mary Oliver)

Once I looked inside
the darkness
of a shell folded like a pastry,
and there was a fancy face -

or almost a face -
it turned away
and frisked up its brawny forearms
so quickly

against the light
and my looking in
I scarcely had time to see it,
gleaming

under the pure white roof
of old calcium.
When I sent it down, it hurried
along the tideline

of the sea,
which was slashing along as usual,
shouting and hissing
toward the future,

turning its back
with every tide on the past,
leaving the shore littered
every morning

with more ornaments of death -
what a pearly rubble
from which to choose a house
like a white flower -

and what a rebellion
to leap into it
and hold on,
connecting everything,

the past to the future -
which is of course the miracle -
which is the only argument there is
against the sea.