lumbers out of the unwavering surf;
claws, flipper by flipper,
through wavesmack and tidepack;
drags her girth up the struggle of shore;
that vast horizon of her shell silhouetted.
This is no false crawl;
everything exact:
the natal philopatry, warm soft sands,
particular tide and slant of moon.
A Perseids meteor scores the night
above the constellation we call Lyra
where I sit with red-spectrum flashlight
to bear witness as she excavates,
trancelike, camouflages;
then, seaward.
I don’t belong here,
making an inadequate Atlas;
shells bursting, the fragile boil
seabound from the false lights of town;
of breath’s first urge, undertow’s beckon.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 28, Issue 2.
J.D. McGee is a poet and high school literature teacher. A finalist for several national poetry prizes, his work has appeared in New Ohio Review, and elsewhere. He will begin the MFA program at Florida Atlantic University in Fall 2026. He lives in Palm Beach County with his Jack Russell terrier, Hank.
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