Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Another Beach Poem, Draft 1

Quietly migrating
from one damp environment to
another, I grit my teeth and
feel a piece of grit- a refugee
grain of sand that has sneakily
immigrated past the borders of
my lips to lurk on my
lower back molar,
be overturned by the
unknowing tongue,
tumbled about the way my body
was today tumbled about by
the crashing waves at the shore.

I don't bother
spitting it out,
even though I know
a pearl won't form there.

1 comment: