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July 2nd, 2016 - we have 234 poets, 8,025 poems and 315,179 comments.
Robert Lowell - Water

It was a Maine lobster town—
each morning boatloads of hands
pushed off for granite
quarries on the islands,

and left dozens of bleak 
white frame houses stuck
like oyster shells
on a hill of rock,

and below us, the sea lapped
the raw little match-stick 
mazes of a weir,
where the fish for bait were trapped.

Remember?  We sat on a slab of rock.
>From this distance in time
it seems the color
of iris, rotting and turning purpler,

but it was only 
the usual gray rock
turning the usual green
when drenched by the sea.

The sea drenched the rock
at our feet all day,
and kept tearing away 
flake after flake.

One night you dreamed
you were a mermaid clinging to a wharf-pile,
and trying to pull
off the barnacles with your hands.

We wished our two souls 
might return like gulls
to the rock.  In the end, 
the water was too cold for us.

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Added: May 7 2003 | Viewed: 18036 times | Comments and analysis of Water by Robert Lowell Comments (48)

Water - Comments and Information

Poet: Robert Lowell
Poem: Water

Comment 48 of 48, added on January 1st, 2016 at 11:17 AM.
qXnVqxVisSqmyNDHBJ

O1mmP5

hNYuVNDn from Guyana
Comment 47 of 48, added on January 1st, 2016 at 10:40 AM.
BrMzOxNAlvghw

xUvP2K

owFZYuRAsPaApcsliR from Germany
Comment 46 of 48, added on December 31st, 2015 at 8:29 PM.
oaBvjCVRcA

2WQ30G

OFGuiCqtYZsLADK from Belize

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