Sea Witch: A Poem to Laura Davis

Sea Witch

There’s a salty woman I know
with woven red hair,
who traded in barn boots for waders.

She swears like a sailor,
bakes in bare feet
and forages the marsh for pickleweed.

She speeds on the backroads,
one hand on the wheel
to find sea glass treasure on the bay.

With a can in her hand
she steams up blue crabs
in her beer keg pot in the back.

Her freckles smile,
she cackles lovingly
and serves up plate after plate.

She says “Drink up,”
“Time and tide wait for no man,”
while we eat on the side of her boat.

With the wind in her hair,
she tells stories
of the Island she now calls home.

She’s our very own Sea Witch,
wild and free among the waves,
making magic with her tales and fine food.