The Yield
The Yield
Richard Smith
A girl writes, ‘Dusk lacquers the sea. The sand
is flecked with shells; a firmament of stars and
planets.’ She pauses, then runs a line through it.
Now the scene is merely an unsolved problem.
Names for heady fragrances elude her. Plants, soil
and ocean breathe words beyond her tongue. Her
toes are cold. She digs them in. Her fingers are
dusted with grit the colour of dead coral.
She abandons pen and paper. Behind her the scruffy
dunes are strewn with coconuts and split husks. (She’s
safely out of range.) The horizon drains the blue from sea
and sky. The coconut palms seem to lean in closer.
The girl sniffs, wipes her hands on her shorts then
retrieves the paper and pen and tries again. She writes,
‘Beneath the ocean’s molten surface, night distends.
Surf shatters against the reef, its foam a luminous white ...’
She frowns. It’s wrong. The sea’s rhythm slows.
The sand slides, shifting left to right. No, it’s the shells—
a wave of crabs: thousands of hermits scuttling ...
The beach is still again. Holding her breath, she leans low.
Shadows reveal fine stria in the sand. The furrows seem
to vanish, blending into grey. Her pen forgotten, the broken
rhythm of the sea remains. ‘Hallowed be Thy name,’
she breathes, ‘Hallowed be Thy name.’
Richard Smith
Teacher & Poet
Richard Smith is a New Zealand teacher. In recent years he's worked as an educator and prison chaplain in Cambodia. Richard now lives in the city of Porirua, Aotearoa New Zealand.
Photography by Mudassir Ali