Fall 1956 • Vol. XVIII No. 4 Poetry |

When Wishes Were Fishes

Beyond your knees at Sailor's Glass Boiled the kelp-smelling sea, There the wind galloped in the tough grass At the edge of the world, and our Sunday wish At the edge of the world and free, Was to bottle a dredged up jelly-fish. Seaweed and dead fish and shells were lure In the grave of the sandy bowl, The glistening arms of swimmers struck Sparks from the suncharged air, and a whole Orphanage came down on the sand in a truck, And old ladies were there for the cure. All that clapping and smacking of gulls, And that slapping of tide on rock, Our senses twanged on the sea's gut string, And the mother's cries, and the animals That barked and charged, and the young ladies in a flock Who ran the soprano scale and jumped the waves in a ring.

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This Space

By Ruth Stone

Beyond your knees at Sailor's Glass Boiled the kelp-smelling sea, There the wind galloped in the tough grass At the edge of the world, and our Sunday wish At the […]

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