Gulls on Ecstasy
By Julia Van Develder
Nov30
Two magnificent ordinary
sea gulls
side by side on the shore
naught but froth between them
look out on the white sea
with unblinking eyes.
My love, he says.
What? she says. What is it?
You loved me once, he says.
True, she says, I did.
And now? he asks.
She turns away.
Look, she says.
Look at the unfeathered:
See how they walk beside the sea
hand in hand
murmuring unintelligibly
content to find a bit of
blue beach glass
or a bunch of bladder wrack
or a smooth sea stone
as though for them
this midmorning stretch of sand is all there is.
And your point? he asks dryly.
Why must there always
be a point? she asks.
The point is, he squawks,
their ease is predicated on the primitive!
What do they know of diving
headlong into the sea?
Of winter storms and summer squalls?
What do they know of
the scarcity of sticks?
Of nest-building codes?
Their food is in the basket!
Their nest neatly unfolds!
Their courage dissipates
at the threat of thunder!
And your point? she asks dryly.
You idealize, he says, you romanticize.
What you seek is illusion.
That may be, she sighs,
and spreads her wings.
And he, foolish clever bird,
puffs out his chest and
watches her wheel away.