Face the Ocean

by Emily Smith

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“I wasn’t strong enough to face the ocean today.”

 

I wasn’t strong enough to face the ocean today.

I fell to my knees and the coarse black rock pushed divots of skin away

—unwilling to allow distraction as the rock sought out my bones.

The deep sting of sharp edged pebbles grinding

             into patella,

             into shin,

             into calloused skin,

still healing from years of prayer.

 

The ocean was agitated

—waves like pale boiled sweets,

strips of thick opaque sugar on top of the fat fingers

as they pulled against the black rock beach.

 

I pressed against the cliff walls and shivered as the winds

whisked these ingredients about inside its earthenware bowl.

             Thick water,

             ground slivers of blackened lava,

             cold winds stirred it all together

to make the crash and shriek of a stocky horse

as its hooves push away from the cold womb.

 

A pebble no larger than a sparrow’s eye

was slung at my temple hard enough to rattle.

I wasn’t strong enough to face the ocean.

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