I try to remember when I first heard it said, “Never turn your back on the sea.” I had never seen the sea before adulthood and even then the source of awe was not the sea itself, but the fact that it looked exactly as I imagined it. How do you come back home to a place you have never been? Each wave, never the same as the one before. Each drop of water new to the shore it caresses. I stand on wet sand, awaiting the surge, then the sudden collapse under my toes as the water rushes back to its source. I know that it is my source too, these predictable tides with unpredictable waves. I watch the children closely as they dig on the shoreline for treasures: a shiny shell, seaglass, a single gull feather. “Pay attention,” I yell into the wind, and know that I am speaking to myself as much as I am to them.

searching for treasure
discarded shells, gray feather
seaside currency


This draft poem was written on April 6, 2024 in response to the  Miz Quickly prompt about buying and selling, as well as the NaPoWriMo prompt, with which I took a few liberties today.