Iris Poetry
First Waves
By Beth Paulson
I carried you, just up from a nap,
pale, moist hair against my cheek,
from the house over grassy dunes
and set you on the edge of a continent
where you, timid explorer,
stepped along the smooth surface
of that strip of shore
between California and the Pacific.
Your starfish hands open,
your eyes studied small waves
that lapped cold over our feet
darkening the plane of sand
we saw our toes sink into,
then slid in a breath back to the sea.
You laughed from your belly
and, like a young Columbus
reached out one arm
far as it would go—to touch
the salty wind that blew against your face
or measure the great blue space
where water meets firmament?
With no word yet for astonished,
wide-eyed, you curved your mouth
into a perfect, silent O.
Beth Paulson has published two collections of poetry, The Truth about Thunder (2001) and The Company of Trees (2004), and one of essays, Uniquely Ouray: Reflections of Life in a Mountain County (2007). A new book of poems, Wild Raspberries, is forthcoming from Plain View Press in Spring 2009. Her poems have appeared widely in literary magazines and in national anthologies. Recent awards include a Pushcart Prize nomination in 2007. Visit Ms. Paulson’s website at wordcatcher.org.
