the sea grew hands to hold me
she hung starfish carefully on each alveoli and
made space in my trachea as my lungs filled with saltwater.
he died in december and
the sea braided my hair with sea grass,
wove a bracelet of sea glass and aquamarine for me.
she told me she’d help me find all of my pieces too someday.
he died in december and
the sea sat beside me and my anger
we made smores on the beach while
anger added more wood to the bonfire and told us her real name was grief.
he died in december and
the sea gently told me no. i could not join him.
no matter how much i wanted to, she needed me and wanted me here
and no amount of thrashing on my part would change her mind.
he died in december.
Previously published in Transients Mag.
