Pigeon Cove Harbor

Martha Webster

A periwinkle high and dry
for long hours, content
I liked to think. 

Pried off ledges
(their underparts were foot
and door—)

smashed them for bait,
on a child-sized hook.
Watched the cunners

a man’s length down
nibble in the gloom
on the skewered

nubs of muscle.
Before something
washed the boulders

clean of me, my rod,
creel, sturdy
shoes, jack knife.