Wendy Esterás
Ballad of Gazos Creek
Fourteen miles to Davenport
the sun well up and humming,
we happened on a pristine shore
vacant this weekday morning.
Bay traffic easily forgotten,
we stopped—not needing signals—
to stretch a dozen legs and
to spot egrets and seagulls.
We unloaded water, a couple of terriers
tipping heads sideways at the sign—
its wordless symbol seeming
to prohibit just Great Danes.
Two humans winked and disobeyed,
unleashed one canine each
who raced downshore with feathered legs
brushing a trail down the beach.
Eight footprints fell to six,
five or four, and then to two,
until they left no terrene trace,
surpassing the dogness that we knew.
At a whistle, the two dots
dashed inland, arcing like a wave,
and with no slowing of their speed,
grew back to beasts again. Engraved
upon our waiting faces
the countenance of peace,
our grins and theirs reward enough
for all our lack of speech.
About the Author | Honorable Mention in Poetry | Linda Purdy Memorial Prize
Wendy Esterás plants yellow flowers in clay-colored pots and still searches used bookstores for intact pop-up books in honor of her friend, Linda Purdy; however, unlike Linda, she does not dream of flying fish, nor does she write riddle poems or stories unless the conundrum first appears as a dream.