Pamela Clarke Vandall
From the cliffs
of Descanso Bay
they crawl out from sea.
Old women hunched over
scrub coastline, sunset
red. They join hands,
fuse old bones with new,
wash limbs in crevices,
and cracks. Dark spills down
the cold slope of legs,
while tide stalks shadows.
They follow a stream
of silvery rock that
flows to a summit.
Ancient women
stripped bare, root
scars like totems.
They reach for me,
like long slanted sun.
They are but us.
© Pamela Clarke Vandall