Saturday, November 26, 2016

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.

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