Elephant Rock

Last night Elephant Rock crumbled.
Her hide, pebble-rough, water-creased dragged
down by a relentless wind, tide and time.

Twice a day for hours for millenia
She sank her mammoth feet in the frigid 
Fundy swirl that sculpted and adorned
her with shells and seaweed. Small concessions
from a greedy lover who stole a piece
of her with every visit. 

As she lumbered heavy to her knees 
glowing red, defiant in the setting sun, 
memories layered deep in sedimentary stone
flowed free to the surface: the dance of gulls, the sway
of jellyfish, the shrieks of children, the soft whispers 
of lovers pressed against her side.

* inspired by a rock formation that collapsed last year Hopewell Rocks on the Bay of
Fundy near where I grew up.

Lana Crossman