Holly Day

Adapting to the Change

The sound of the surf pounds always in my head, waves
breaking, shattering on tiny translucent multi-hued pebbles
of sand, pulses constantly in the background of my day,
matches the click of heels on the hard pavement ironically

made up of tiny translucent multi-hued pebbles of sand
so much of a part of my every day that if I was to block
it out of my head, the emptiness of silence would shatter me
I miss being near the ocean so much it shatters me.

I wake and can still smell the salty spray of the ocean
from my dreams, dreams of playing in the surf with my sister,
children again, the water tugging at me in a way no
slow-moving river ever could, pulling at every part of my
fragile being in a way that no shallow freshwater puddle
ever could.

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