A fundamentalist turned freedom chaser with an obnoxiously stubborn faith.

To Touch the Ocean

I sit with old mothers, watching the tide
They curl fatherless children in their hips
And watch the blurred horizon for ships
Which left too long ago to remember
Or for monsters or an angry wind
They call their kids back from the dark

They run from the lines of white foam
And they scream while they laugh
Grab fistfuls of sand to hurl like “take that!”
To a void they can’t comprehend
Wild and loud and enjoyable
When it is chasing toes on the shore 

Not primordial chaos, well maybe just.
The threat of a sea of no names
Is far from their minds while they play
But near to mine as I watch
From the warm, dry sand my babies
Teasing a dark which laughs back

We let them get swept just enough
So that their mouths fill with saltwater
And they are not quite in danger
Though their heartbeats say so
Terror is delightful in measure and
In view of the people who love you

I sit with my mother, all smile and tan
At the place where she felt most herself
Where she played and collected her shells
The crashing and churning don’t scare her
Every bit of it is named, can’t you tell?
All known by a God who brings light

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