Day 7. Change Direction or Digress from the Last Thing You Said
Her back’s against driftwood, a tree trunk that the ocean scooped up during a storm, white and smoothly slick, and she’s wearing a swimsuit, eating a packed lunch of bread and cheese, pickle, and a white globe-of-an-egg, still slightly warm and peeled bald, except for a sprinkle of pepper and a lick of sand. She glances up at a boy walking the beach, the afternoon sun behind him. He casts a very long, effortless shadow, and no second thoughts from interfering gods. When you’re 12, these are the things you remember.
estranged from saltwater
somewhere between land and sea
and arms of a shoreline
This is Piece seven of a (draft) multi-part project. The concept was originally created by Jim Simmerman, entitled “Twenty Little Poetry Projects”. ©Misky 2021. Image from Unsplash. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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