I have heard about this beach, the meandering boardwalk, the wide expanse of sand. I imagine
roaming piles of driftwood, singing like a gull, a lonely song that moves me.
My bare feet are sandy
and burnt like my father’s after we left him.
Waves thrumming on and on will change you, they say. Whittle you down like driftwood and
take your power away, leaving you sunk beneath the waves. But then the gulls squawk,
fluttering down, pulling apart sea stars.
And my thoughts break apart and fly up.
I imagine standing on a gray log and calling back to them. I heard that I might find my song
someday. And now I think I have. I sing the song of the gull and stand strong.
I wrap myself in kelp
and run into the waves.