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At The Edge Of The Pier
The Hyacinth Review
The Hyacinth Review

At The Edge Of The Pier

by
January 8, 2024
Woman On A Dock, William Merritt Chase, 1886

Christina Ellison is an MFA candidate at SHSU, a Publishing…

If you stand at the edge of the pier, you can spy a lighthouse on an island that can be reached at low tide. Yet no one ever crosses through / the seaweed hills / perfumed with fish oil. Though it’s vacant, decrepit, and crustacean-coated, its revolving light never fails to shine. If you sit at the edge of the pier, your toes mingle with foam and you can toss your words to the wind. Perhaps it will reach the landmass on the other side waving from the horizon. Sometimes the gales bring words to you If you dance at the edge of the pier the naiads will join in the glee, with their smooth, blue skin and their salt-crusted locks; If you sing at the edge of the pier, sirens may emerge to listen, and if your voice surpasses the screech of a gull and the lyrics are sound and dulcet to the ear, they may contribute a harmony to lure passersby in lieu of wayward ships. If you lay face-down, no one will see you cry andyourtearswillmeldwiththewaves.
If you lay face-up, staring at the blistering sun, the heat will cover you in a blanket of warmth, and your lids, heavy, will close. Your skin will dry out and burn, you wake you’ll waddle your raw body home, a blush hidden behind dehydrated scarlet. And when you’re home, you only want to return — to the lighthouse, the wind, the naiads, the sirens; tothewaves and sunburnt slumbers — so pick up a conch from your sill and listen.
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Christina Ellison is an MFA candidate at SHSU, a Publishing Fellow at the Texas Review Press, and managing editor of The Measure. Her works appear in Do Geese See God?, Epistemic Lit, The Afterpast Review, Humid, and more. She lives in Spring, Texas, with her best friend, air conditioning.

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