I loved this poem the moment I read it, many years ago. My friend, Barbara, wrote it, and has graciously allowed me to publish it here.
Gulf
This map of the Keys,
with their left-handed sweep
to Key West
reminds me of the small
of your back
arched in summer
spanning yellow days,
highway fever receding -
My fingers search the seven-mile bridge
and secret shoals,
feel your traces
in the hollows.
Then you reach into my maelstrom,
haul me out
with your Texas keel,
your Atlantic sail.
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