The Lettuce Swamp

The Lettuce Swamp

In the lettuce swamp, the water gurgles;
snowy egrets perch on red mangrove branches
listening to fish breaths. Bird heads tip down

one eye left, another right. Black crabs
crawl across root spines sucked bare,
a turtle raises his head to sunlight.
From beneath pond greens,

two primeval eyes emerge.
A parabola mouth beaches on salad,
mud-hatted head glides with a push
of reptilian body and tail. The plants

yield and part. A reddish egret fans wings
in light stepped dance, and a line of green
caterpillars curl and stretch on platform rails.

The snowy egret flies down with a great squawk,
plucks up a writhing fish, the lump disappears
down a curvaceous neck.

Yesterday I held a young alligator,
his crenulated skin cool at the neck.
His body pulsed, as did mine, only separate
by degrees of body heat and thought,

not so different in breath or heart beat,
or the way our babies reach tiny arms up
for mother, little mouths in wide smiles.



Annie Bien

Posted over on Loch Raven Review