To be honest I’ve lost three places.
It’s how things come. My dad

wrote that the last time he didn’t
see any jellyfish, sometimes

the winds push them into
Mobile Bay, line the shores

with orange-striped remains.
Then storms would roll in

from the Gulf, kick up a chop
and pulverize them till every

wave had bits of barbs
and every swim was risky.

The ocean always giving
and taking, constellations

of coquina shells along
the surf, three houses

during the last big
hurricane, but it never

got ours. We used to sit
out on the porch and guess

who would be next, I suppose
we were right in some ways.