Omaha Beach by Piotr Florczyk

Thursday night I was at Diesel books to introduce Piotr Florczyk.  His wife, a doctor was there as well and a great crowd of swimmers who are also book lovers.  It was heart warming.  The swimming, the love of language, the poetry of the moment.   Read his poetry, you’ll be glad you did.

“Omaha Beach” from Slate

Returning here, it hasn’t been easy
for them to find their place in the black sand—
always too much sun or rain,
strangers driving umbrellas yet deeper

into their land. The young radio host said so,
speaking of the vets. When the sea had come,
some curled up inside the shells;
others flexed and clicked their knuckles

on the trigger of each wave, forgetting
to come up for breath. Then as now, there was
no such a thing as fin-clapping fish,
quipped the host—his voice no more than

an umlaut going off the air. But he didn’t
give us a name at the start or the end.
Nor did he explain how to rebury a pair of
big toes jutting out from the mud

at the water’s edge. In the end, it’s a fluke.
A beach ball gets lost. And a search
party leads us under the pier, into the frothy sea
impaling empty bottles on the rocks.

Published in: on August 31, 2015 at 10:55 am  Leave a Comment  

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