Allison Morris #26 'Mingling with Sand'

I have been rocked, cradled

in the reflection of a perfect sky—

caught laughter,

which skips across water

like pebbles.

I have wriggled into white sand 

so fine, it was like dust—

hurled wet handfuls 

at squealing, brown-skinned girls

who tried in vain to brush it off.

Their sharp squawks of friendly outrage

mimicked the too-white gulls

swimming through the sky.

I have been maliciously ground

into the hateful rocks of the stormy undersea,

airless and

clenched in terror against a blue

bloated fate.

I have clawed and fought 

and hauled my body from the spray,

shedding water in sheets—

dragged air into aching lungs

while salty blood and salty water

poured down legs that shook,

mingling with sand.