Dolphin

At low tide on a barren beach,
a sun-bleached dolphin skull.

Nothing left but bone.
Strewn nearby,

weathered vertebrae—
medallions,

each shaped
like a uterus with ovaries.

I slide one onto the silver
chain around my neck—

a crucifix for an old woman
with a young heart.

Relentless, the breakers roll
about like a die cupped

in the defiant fist of an aged
mariner. The dolphin’s

one-hundred teeth
scattered in the deep

like a broken strand of pearls.

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