Charles Island

There is an island

Where the egrets nest,

Wild, white ornaments

In flight,

Yet gauche on the graceful

Curves of the branches.


It is here that my hope resides,

It’s cacophonous call,

Carried to me

By the on-shore wind.

A cackle that cracks

And slaps over the waves,

Streaking my cheeks

With the sputum

Of spume and spray.


And the sand-bridge

That I have so often traversed

To retrieve it

Has been voraciously

Consumed by the tide.


© M. G. Iannucci 2016

“…the needy have hope and inequity shuts its mouth” (Job: 5:16).


Photo: Charles Island Milford, CT

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