Tuesday, August 02, 2005

beach walk



I glorify my small struggles,
picture them swirling,
epic seas with tidal pulls.
I think I own the constellations
that scatter at the storm's approach,
imagine my eager heart churns
the brine and whips the winds
that gather filled with threats and thunder.

This whole life I have touched broken things,
leaned down to pick them up
beneath the briar bushes-
not brave, just untamed,
embracing my tiny rebellions.

When I am distilled,
my bones bleached
as white as the sand I treasure,
my little hurricane will go unnamed.
The sea will swallow the torn boards
and tumble the shards I leave.
Across the ocean another woman
will gather a sliver of smooth green glass
and lay it on her windowsill.

1 comment:

Hopalong EAC said...

Your poetry lives and will not go unnamed.

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