The ocean still…

Sometimes, poems just come to me. This was one of those times. I surprised myself writing a poem about the ocean in the middle of the winter. (2019)

=================

Saltwater mazes I walk barefoot.

Slip-slide on seaweed rock—careful of sea urchins.

Little fish dart over my skin fearfully tickling

making me yelp in surprise.

A single starfish, I gently graze,

and find it to be hard and scratchy—not how I imagined,

not soft and smooth.

 

Nothing here retains the romance of the sea,

imagined in many film and literature.

There are no oysters with pearls—unless I’m an expert,

and search harder with proper machine.

Starfish are not as pretty as I thought,

and seaweed is an ugly green or greenish brown.

I find no secrets in these waves either,

as they lap at my feet or splash against my calves.

The waves are only there because of the moon,

and not because of any hidden mythological creature.

 

Only salt water stretches out to a horizon, nothing more.

Way beyond that line is another beach somewhere

with a person frowning like me,

because they have also just stepped out of a fantasy,

and realized nothing is romantic about the sea.

 

Saltwater mazes I walk barefoot.

Sand sticks to every wet surface of my skin.

Then,

the smallest crab I have ever seen

quickly runs across the sand before me at almost lightning speed.

My heart is still pounding as I stare out at the sand,

searching for the crab but of course, it is already invisible.

 

A smile cracks my frown.

The ocean,

still,

had something to surprise me.

 

copyrighted TheTigerWriter

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