52stories

(6 votes, average: 3.5 out of 5)

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I know this place. I’ve been here before.
cliffs cut and sculpted
time and sea and air
lone yucca stalk stands
sentinel over the staircase, the ocean
metal railings were not so much buried
by wasting dunes;
drainage pipes were not so exposed
oxidized
and the sign
its message obstructed now, obliterated
in water and salt

My feet register the smooth fineness of sand.
all the potential for glass blown
against damp skin
mist mixes with drying salt
roughened soles make clean thwup
footfalls occasional stones
fine, skipping grade stones
flat and waiting

The children see.

The adult gaze is drawn to the water.
hypnotized by whalesong traversing
air improbable, calling,
seeking, still
oceanic travelers make glassy footprints
skin of water
their song cloaks me perhaps
adults see only slow, wet roll
of skin, slow wide salute
of tail; perhaps
they hear the rushing whoosh
of blowholes
seconds after

The children watch my emergence.
sonar wielding giants
graceful in their weight
buoy
this exposed Jonah