by Ruth Bavetta
It stood on a cliff above the sea,
its grey, scarred face staring
into the long shimmering lines
of surf. My grandmother,
who lived alone with her crutches
and her thoughts of my long-gone
went there to watch
the seals on the rocks below.
And the cliff was high
and the waves surged and broke.
Ruth Bavetta’s poetry has been published in Rattle, Nimrod, Tar River Review, North American Review, Rhino, Poetry East, Atlanta Review, Poetry New Zealand and many others. Her poems appear in the anthologies Twelve Los Angeles Poets and Wait a Minute; I Have to Take Off My Bra. She has degrees from the University of Southern California, California State University San Bernardino, and Claremont Graduate University.