Where I Drift

by Ann Chinnis

now, is never quiet;

cordgrass creaks with salt marsh 

periwinkles. Blue crabs click

at oyster shells scrapped 

on the river bank. Beyond

Calf Pasture Point, the current 

belches past cattails

 to Church Prong Inlet, its chime 

summing the hours. In brown 

shallows of Dead and Bones Cove,

I loop my boat’s line around 

a loblolly pine, its bark scaling

praises to yellowed needles. 

An Atlantic croaker cracks

the river’s glass for a breath 

of air in August. Virginia Bluebells

croon; moth hummingbirds seduced 

by their music. I breathe

a salt and sky-blue symphony.

As a girl, I caught a spot fish here 

for my father. Raced it home

to him. Dredging my silvered gift 

from the bucket, he shook his head. 

Too small to eat, as he tossed it 

into the creek. The speckled stiffness 

struck the water with the sound of waves

lapping a fiberglass hull, fingers 

tapping an empty bucket.