Tides I
A poem by N.L. Holmes

Tides I

Three hours from the sea,
I hear the caustic hilarity of gulls,
a make-the-best-of-it laughter.

What else are birds to do who find
themselves so far from home?
Follow the plow, the shoals of worms.

Circle the brown field like the main
wind fails to churn.
On sail-white wings they dip and tack.

Perhaps the spring storms brought them
here, their small armada
dashed upon these inland shores.

Do they go back? I’ve never learned. Their needs
are simply met, here no rivals
to the casting of their net.

About the Author:

N.L. Holmes has been a nun, an artist, an interior designer, and an archaeologist, among other things. At present, she writes historical novels. With their cats, chickens and geese, she and her husband live in northern France.

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