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Jan 152014
 

 by Alixandria Moore

the waiting

They were a collaboration of hooked toes

in melting sand.

The waves yearn for the shore—

They split and fold into each other,

white tipped heads rushing

over the blue limbs that rise and sink,

and shove each other aside to swallow children’s feet.          

 

Seagulls circled his head

as the cotton sundress tugged his shirt, waiting

for him to pull her in.

Seaweed clumps sprawled on the shore,

like washed up bodies carried by

restless waves tunneled into the sand,

left to dry in the calloused sun.

 

She took the waves,

grounded the whites into

the specks of emerald and blue,

and held him in them—

pressed his hand into her own

and prayed he’d yearn for her,

like the waves seek the shore.