The bay looks like Christmas
with trap buoys sparkling
red and green on the flat black water.
Settled to the bottom
like an unhappy marriage,
splintered gray slats call
with hunks of discarded fish.
Lobsters split the mud, blue
prisoners of hunger, caught
in their hollow search.
But lobsters caged in the depths
give me hope: that on the muddy floor
of an icy bay, hearts beating like mine
can scuttle thoughtless into waiting traps,
and still transform what falls
into sweet, white flesh.
Read more of Dr. Berlin's work.