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.