Poetry by Merrill Lee Girardeau

Merrill Lee Girardeau lives in her hometown of Birmingham, Alabama. Merrill Lee received her MFA from Sarah Lawrence College and teaches English at the University of Alabama.

In Public

The afternoon had jittered away, wincing as if bitten.
Storm clouds glowered over the oaks uptown,
and the cafe’s coffee would fasten
my gaze to the fan’s swirling shadow in the evening.

To be in public, less antidote than exposure—
like plunging a hydrophobic into the ocean.
In the stuffy emptiness, myrtle limbs ribbed
the patio roof, translucent, rippling washboard music.

Library book open, I sipped
and missed my cup lid’s quirk: twice perforated,
double-mouthed. Coffee poured two ways,
one onto the page. It bruised my shirt too.

My own one mouth pursed as thunder freckled Dryades
and a house wren ruffled its feathers in dust.

Bon Secour

In the distance, seabirds
fling themselves into the gulf.
Closer, children, parents,
the bachelorette party
in matching black bikinis:
all immersed. The great
blue heron with two
bald spots at the base
of its wing hunts among
sunbathers unafraid
and flips a pale fish this way
and that before swallowing it
whole. Waves demolish
sandcastles as a family buries
their oldest child’s legs
and sculpts a merman’s tail.
My mother wants to talk.
My father wants to breathe.
This morning I dreamed
I asked a lovestruck man
into a hot tub in a fusty living
room below a picture window.
I woke to the heart’s question.
Following forked
sandpiper prints,
I walk the shore.
The sea courts
my feet with broken shells.
It’s May, still windy, still
bracing to touch.
Dunes like unshaven knees
with their long grasses—
the edge of the wildlife refuge.
Down the beach, terns assemble
like fighter jets on damp sand.
Otherwise, an empty mile
ahead and behind. I imagine
3unclasping my bikini top,
but oil rigs leer
from the horizon. I ask aloud
and turn into the waves
with hesitation. It’s cool,
a little rough.
I’m laughing. I’m
angry. Another step,
and something pierces
my toe, holds on.
I sit in the surf,
which unpricks my skin
and throws me backward,
at its mercy.