It's Still Life

The sea breaks just inches from where I stand. It’s a cannon’s crash in my ears. A tempest. A churning purgatory. We’re walking fast along this wet sand, the tide pushing us faster, the beach paperflat and straight into the west sky, and we’re barefoot. Mom says it’s good for the arches of our feet. And it removes calluses. My sister complains of blisters. Mom ignores her nasal whines, concentrates on her own direction, walks like a postman who’d rather be Santa Claus delivering cheer. My sister and I, we can’t keep up, and for the next two hours we chase after this tall women, her grey hair a woven mass from the wind and her mustard-brown cardigan flapping like a lose tongue behind her.

We spy on the world.
You. Me. For transparency
And a place to survive.

written for dVerse Poets: Haibun #13