Jellyfish

 

Little floating globules

with frail, stinging tentacles,

aimless, in the Mexican gulf,

 

Nearly invisible

save the stripes of brown,

or the pale pink hue, they materialize

in sandy blue-green waters,

 

Thrusting forward, blind,

underfoot beachgoers like me;

I do not see the gelatinous orb.

 

Cold viscous jelly

adheres to my leg, wrapping

its excruciating gossamer

thrice around my ankle;

 

I scramble ashore.

Pried from my leg, tossed aside,

the carcass reeks of fish and salt.

 

I gaze upon its body,

instinctual, blind, meaning no

enduring harm, its kin radiates grace,

pulsing softly in rolling waves.