Solace in the wicker

rocking chair, in the lull

of a wave, kiss her

goodnight with speckled

scallop shells drying out

on the granite counter,

seaweed tangled

legs pressed together

underwater & this fear

of God coursing

through these ice cold

oceans of memory,

with the overalls rolled up

over the knee.

In every thought I am

a girl & in every moment

I am the adult that carries

her—cradles her, conjures

her spirit, lets her

steer the course,

and I am getting better

at plucking shells

from the shoreline

& identifying them by name.

Look darling, a lightning whelk.

I try to approach my life

with more curiosity,

as a child I had not realized

sand dollars

were once alive.

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