Seaglasses

Our tumbled shards.

Polished glass and pebbles at Glass Beach in Fort Bragg

sounds called what we would not say 

until the shadows in our ears besieged 

our remainders we screamed 

for their release but they stayed 

laughing into our wet faces 

we could not see them 

or our faces where we stayed

the stank breath of death rot 

creeping through our breaths

stopping the songs

we meant to sing

of how we flew

after scratching our snakeskins

we were removed and outside 

we could not hear the songs 

in the street as the dragon still 

spread the photos called 

our monsters out 

to hush them back

Time ran off 

we had the babies’ 

toothless mouths looking back

lining their faces in half-moons 

on our beds and with them looking back 

we kited from the cells anchored 

by the buds of lost mothers in our teeth 

to one day fit ourselves back 

into homes we had once carried 

on our backs before we left 

the sea 

before the after 

we left it

back there for the 

sea

Author: Stacey C. Johnson

I keep watch and listen, mostly in dark places.

2 thoughts on “Seaglasses”

    1. Thanks, Granny. I felt this to be an unusual one, too, but I am limited to what comes up in the brief coffee window and some are definitely more strange than others. I think I can only write these about something I sense but don’t really understand : )

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