Love on the Tides

I want to age like sea glass.
Smoothed by tides, not broken. — Bernadette Noll

I rolled like thunder through
Gullah and Geechee islands.
Stretching for my northern star but
yearning for your sickly embrace.

I screamed like a haunt.

Chased your irises till
my dust dress stained red.

The going was rough.

Your hands and espresso offerings
made my smiles foggy, and
banished joy to
hazy phantom surf, where

We spent high tide in syncopation,
schlepped through regrets
holding another like we could flee
like we couldn’t drown if we held tight enough.

After our dances among sheets
And high tide turned to foam to shards,
I lost something sweet.

When you consumed mine to fuel yours, it took days to
expel you, light years to bury you.

But still I rise, like the dust daughter
I was raised to become.

Carrying your glass was lonesome.
But reminded me that,
among these smoothed-down
hopes, I could pray that you would drown.

To hope that you, too, would be shaped
into sea glass, and laid to rest,
smooth and sound.

Smooth and sound,
I pray that you drown.

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