Alewives
We’re digging a moat
elbow-deep, for C & T’s castle
near the tide-wash line
where sand’s moist enough
to shape, and the overnight
die-off has scattered.
The odd one’s still silver & shiny,
really pops against
all those grayed-off with rot,
sunbaked as shmears of mayo.
The trench fills, fingers claw & scrape
buried rocks & pebbles,
flecks of sediment & shells
that wedge under my thumb
nail. The stench of die-off kicks up,
& the waves—refill, recede, refill,
cloud it all up into a stirred broth
that settles to a floating lattice.
S.D. Dillon has an MFA from Notre Dame and lives in Michigan. His poetry has appeared recently in SORTES, Last Leaves Magazine, and The Shortlist: Best of BarBar 2024, and he received the 2025 Visual Poetry Award from Bacopa Literary Review. He can be found on Instagram at @sddillon50.