Japan Tsunami, March 11, 2011
Her mothering hands
split the dark
into three sections.
She dreams her daughter
fidgeting between her knees
while she smooths
to twine it
She takes the soft
sleeve of her robe
a drip of seawater
that slips from her
A yellow fishing buoy
tangled long into the braided rope,
in a stew of Styrofoam, driftwood
and shoe no wider than a closed fist.
Broken shells crunch like fingernails
and split teeth under bare feet.
The serial number, salt-whitened,
readable as forearm-ink under a sleeve.