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…
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Evil, Chaos, and Seashells
I don’t remember what brought us there. I don’t remember if we’d had a fight or something had happened to her at work or something else, but I remember arriving to seagulls and salty air and watching her make her way across the sand. Usually the beach was recreational: we brought blankets and snacks and sand toys and tanning oil (don’t judge). This time was different. No beach bag, just us and a purpose. Mom had business here. My memory is imperfect, but what’s in here is her teaching me, showing me her way, introducing her ritual. She got out a journal and sat in the sand and told me,…
