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[Poetry] Two poems by Gabrielle Grilli

Ode to the Horseshoe Crab

Muck colored solid shell you shed

& swap: a cycle—carapace sectioned in thirds,

ten eyes spanning top of spiked shell to tail: scanning

surroundings, seeking mates. Your six appendages divide

duties: two feed, four forage, scuttle, & scrape seafloor

sediment. Living fossil, here before dinosaurs, making

beaches scaled like a dragon’s neck as you nest in hundreds

ensuring survival; I too wish my body was a cellulose-like

shield only yielding to sharks & sea turtles: jaws spitting

shell bits skyward. Let me seal myself with you in sand

submerged—all but tail tip tucked inside

your hollow home, safely sheltered

until you wander through

moon pulled








Plant negatives sway under water—

developing, about to break the surface.

Rocks sit slack jawed against sand. Ice cream slips

down warm waffle cones leaving little pools

in hand creases like tire-track skids across asphalt.

Sun bakes bodies bone bare & waves wake and fall

splaying ashore.

Gabrielle Grilli is an emerging poet with a Master of Fine Arts from the University of South Florida. Her work has been featured in Chasing Light: A Burgert Brothers Anthology, Panoplyzine, The Racket, The Fine Print, Saw Palm: Places to Stand, and Spectrum Literary Magazine. She was also a finalist in the Spring 2020 F(r)iction Poetry Contest and has work forthcoming in The Mailer Review.


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