Terin Weinberg

 
 
florida-outline+copy.png
 
 

Stone Claw Crabbing

          Tavernier Key, FL

Five-foot waves hid the cages
soaking on the ocean floor,
braided ropes grew
slime-green in the underwater sunlight.
             Buoys bobbed slightly
while the boat bounced
in the ocean like a rubber duck

in the bathtub, wobbling
to stay afloat. Two sets of hands

worked to hook and pull
the sunken trail markers

off the ocean bottom. The cages,
holding the question of emptiness,
            were hoisted portside.
Among the pig’s feet and bait
ballyhoo, the crabs’ broad
bodies lay like treasure, their mouths open,
revealing bubbles. When my father reached

inside, he fought with the crabs

for their arms. He snapped them off
at the shoulders on the bucket’s ledge,

then tossed the bodies, back to the broken sea.


epiphyte lullabies 

in the summered-swamps 
there are fuchsia orchids
         budding & they don’t give
a damn about you or your blue 

eyes—they know the way the sun feels
on their stamens. wander your focus
         to the murk, to your stuck-bottomed
boots slurping at the mud. 

+

in the crotch of a tupelo tree
         a moss orchid digs its
roots, decides to hold on, to bloom.
         & it still doesn’t give a damn 

as a mosquito drones over the buds
& body lingering in the water.
          hold your breath, the swamp
doesn’t need you here.


Terin Weinberg is an MFA candidate at Florida International University in Miami, Florida. She graduated from Salisbury University with degrees in Environmental Studies and English. She serves as the Poetry Editor for Gulf Stream Literary Magazine. Her work has been published in journals including Flyway, Moon City Press, Waccamaw, Barely South Review and The Normal School.

← Previous Next →

Back to Contents