Watching a Gull at Cannon Beach

You stick your beak into everything:
wave-darkened pebbles, grayed scraps
of litter, drying carcasses, just in case
 
there’s a soft spot, an organ you can pluck
and swallow down your narrow throat,
something, anything to make a dent

in your hunger. You peck everywhere
along the beach, among things that defy
naming, among your own feathers
 
until you draw blood. But look,
there’s a pool of sunlight on the sand,
yours for the having, no need to poke
 
anywhere, just move your craggy feet,
your ruffled wings, lift your head
and draw the sunlight in. It’s a different
 
kind of emptiness than the one you fear,
a place to rest, to feel warmth on your
back, no need to tuck your wings close
 
to your body. Instead, spread them
a little. There’s no one here to begrudge
you, to list all your failings. Here
 
there is only you and sunlight, blinding
and beckoning, a spot of heat
on a stormy beach. You’d be crazy
 
not to give up the hope of some stagnant
morsel in favor of fullness that cuts
like grace through the clouds. You’d be
 
crazy not to take your scaly feet and
lopsided wings, your empty belly, your
sharp beak and step into that circle of light.

Published by Crab Creek Review, 2011