The Sea

The sea at its brimming, the sea at its best. A child invents a wave; its mercy at her splashing, yet it roars.

She makes sandslop, spreads it on her feet. She plants herself, but in the waves, she shifts. She demarcates invasions.

She fashions a disc and uses it to start a dance.

“That’s not how you start a dance,” he tells her.

“It is too, I’ll show you,” she says, leaving pools as she steps.

Advertisements

About abi nighthill

Abi has a BA in Poetry from Columbia College Chicago.
This entry was posted in Poetry and Nonfiction. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s