You can get a horse as soon
as you get a backhoe big
enough to bury it, Momma
told her. Likewise, she didn’t
have the smarts to bother
with college.
Down the pier a sailor smoked
and mended his net. Feeling her
stare, he pegged her for
lonely, took her out to sea.
Momma didn’t get a husband
til she had a big enough knife.
The net was big enough for this
new catch, but – Momma
will be missing me.
His face cracked with years
of salt like those sore, handknitted
knots. Swells made false islands
of horizon. Seven miles and you
lose the land, he says.
The distance she can’t
make sense of. It folds itself
into a wave she could ride
all the way back there and bury
everything. But she can’t
tell.
Is it big enough?
Sara Comito is a writer living in Fort Myers. Her poetry has been published at places like A-Minor Magazine, Thrush Poetry Magazine, and Blue Fifth Review. Her interests include a new love – fiction writing, plus experimenting with world cuisines, camping in Florida’s swamps, and watching her teenage son invent his future.
Paul Waring is a retired clinical psychologist who once designed menswear and was a singer/songwriter in several Liverpool bands. His poems have appeared in journals/sites including Reach Poetry, Eunoia Review, The Open Mouse and are forthcoming in Clear Poetry and Amaryllis. He recently returned from living in Spain and Portugal and continues to enjoy being re-acquainted with the wonderful variety of nature in Wirral and other parts of Britain. His blog is 
Foxglove Journal 