【by Alexis Osowiecki】

The ocean sits cool and somber gray before me.
The sun remains shrouded behind a barricade
of clouds, and everything is cast in shadow.
It’s impossible to tell where the ocean ends
and the sky starts. All around, I spy seagulls
encroaching on us, slowly approaching from all
sides. They press in on me, as if they are trying
to drive me out, but there is nowhere left to go.

Salt and sunscreen burn in my nostrils, sharp and raw.
Nearby, my cousins laugh as one of the birds dives
at my aunt. And somewhere there is another voice,
laughing along with them. I listen and realize
it is mine. It’s my voice echoing back to me
from years ago, years spent on this exact same beach;
from the small cottage I can no longer visit;
from a forgotten place that is no longer mine.

Together, we wade out into the cool water
where we spill our secrets to the seaweed, the breeze,
and each other. My cousin speaks of her boyfriend.
She is only a year older than me yet I
feel so young and tiny, like a broken bottle
on the beach, waiting for the day I too can be
rounded and weathered; become sea-glass just like her:
an object that is desired and collected.

Altogether, we emerge from the gray waters.
The cold hits right away despite the summer heat.
My arms rise in little goosebumps, my muscles shake.
I retreat to my sandy towel, taking sips
of sandy water, grimacing each time I feel
the grains hit my tongue. As I drink, I look around
and try to reconcile this place with the beach
of my youth. But the seagulls are back, so I give up.