Orca Bites

When waves hit us, our toes disappear
too quickly in loose sand

and each vacation day fades into shadow
like a seal just below the crest of sea.

We are losing this lifetime battle,
our bodies too long in our shells.

So we practice hiding, disguise
ourselves as tourists, three deep against the rail

of a sightseeing boat. A young
humped back whale throws her tail

in the air, with all the oohs and aahs as expected
and then she is gone.

The local guide explains orca bites
unique to each whale, recognizes her by what

she is missing. We are scarred as well,
but the biggest voids are within us,

the emptiness a constant rhythm
where we get lost.

How buoyant the harbor
just north of Cape Cod Bay.

How close the rest of the world
when we dock, trip over. Heavy

lines wrap around cleats.
This ocean is deep enough for giants

to swim, but too shallow at the shore
for forgiveness to set in.

Beth Oast Williams is the author of the chapbook Riding Horses in the Harbor (Finishing Line Press, 2020). Her poetry has been accepted for publication in Nimrod, Salamander, Leon Literary Review, SWWIM, One Art, Dialogist, Invisible City and Rattle's Poets Respond, among others, and nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize.