In the bright sun,
I drink bottled water
while watching the sea

sand fleas
like tiny agile rocks

salt rime like threads-
tide stitches sand

What I wrote in the sand
is no less true for being erased

Do not think I have forgotten-
the sea we would have watched together
a cold reminder on my cheeks

To know the storm will end
does not stop the boat from filling

The sea wets my sleeves;
Who can I send shells to?

Kij Johnson



the shell on the beach -
so beautiful
so perfect...
until you pick it up to see
the battlescars
and wounds.



and we are the same -
hiding our scars and wounds beneath us.



there are those who pick up the perfect shells...
they feel disgust at the sight of the damage -
and throw the flawed into the crashing waves.
and there are those who are struck by features of beauty...
and they treasure the nobility of the scars.



and we are the same -
embrasing some, rejecting others.


and ever waiting for one who can see
our features of beauty...
and the nobility of our scars.