Users Who Spiked
GRIEF
Private Notes
Private Notes
Notes
I remember,
September rains rolled in.
Surreptitious lashings on glass.
I've taken these waves for granted.
The solitude of a beached whale
or an abandoned baby seagull
Waiting.
Belly damp on sand.
Brine weighing her feathers into the surf.
Beak pointing west.
I wait until the waves begin to push her.
move
I watch.
A waddle.
The desperate wave of underdeveloped wings.
I turn away toward the sandpipers, they dash
east, west, east, west
enough of a distraction for me to stomach my departure
without ever looking back.
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Exactly. I don't know that it gets easier.