Poetry by Charlie Steak
walking
on the beach
I pick up shells
at the surf line
each tiny, perfect
(to me at any rate)
pale petal pink
delicate, ridged, lined,
butter paper yellow
rinsed in swirling water,
eluding my fingertips
chalkboard black
I have no purpose
for this handful of
bleached white
deserted homes,
is it ungrateful
to re-scatter
I’ll keep
one
Charlie Steak is an author and playwright currently living in the southwest USA. The winters are great but gardening in summer resembles Armageddon. Or maybe Mordor. He has written for Space 55, Synthetic Human, Rising Youth Theatre, and many other organizations. His poetry will be published in Constellations this winter.
