Breakfast In Wellfleet by Dwayne Barrick

Breakfast In Wellfleet

for the Peloquins

The air is polished glass.
Felled branches, marsh mud whisked,
And haggard, flattened grass
When first we come outdoors.

The sea’s a roiled hue
Night’s endless winds mixed in.
The morning clouds are few.
We dodged the hurricane.

Left over breezes stir,
Spent lovers in their bed,
Nudged by morning’s burs.
Tall windows and blue trim,

A single flower plucked
For vases with gaunt necks,
And glasses neatly tucked,
Their mouths set upside down:

We four sit at breakfast
Before the sunned veranda,
And know this meal won’t last.
For two days eating scraps,

We order pancakes, juice,
And coffee with some fruit.
The marsh is low—faint sluice
To harrowed harbor, bay,

And sea. Your mom and dad
And you and yours trade smiles.
Always hungry, glad.
Always glad we’re hungry.

by Dwayne Barrick

Editor’s Note: The unexpected enjambment set against iambic trimeter mirrors the unexpectedness of surviving a hurricane relatively unscathed. The ending is perfect.

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