Just Below

Low tide and the lost things show themselves.
Pylons and parts of piers long collapsed,
invisible at the other end of tides,
when water is high at the pull of the full moon.

But make no mistake,
even not seen, the old posts lurk,
threats to all who float there
unaware.

About this poem

A poem about past trauma. A song in praise of therapy. A poem about being aware that scars never quite leave you. A poem about old piers that never quite go away. Poetry is never about one thing.

The photograph was taken at the far end of Provincetown, MA., in the salt marshes.

Be well. Travel wisely.

Tom