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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4484 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Inner Harbor Denis Garrison The harbor, at tide's turning, hesitates. The slapping of the waves around the pier degenerates into a gurgling swirl. Now, as the estuary's flow reverses, the circling gulls come swooping in and drop to settle noisily on rolling swells. A splash disturbs the rhythm of the night. Below a piling heaped with her discarded dress, high heels, and purse, a woman floats upon the harbor's face, a cold white flash amongst reflected city lights and stars. In time, the tide recedes. Its lunar ebb begins to drain the darkened basin of the inner harbor, pulling down the ghost white shadow of the limp and lonely corpse without a sound, to silent, inky depths. The tide rolls out. The seagulls soar again. In Baltimore, a rowhouse quietly awaits the footsteps of its occupant, the homely waking sounds of single life. And, on the pier, police, their cruiser lights all flashing red and blue, intently search for clues, ignoring witnesses aloft. The screaming seagulls cry her requiem. |
