View: All Thoughts Writing

entre les falaises
I could enunciate the details of every single rock that sunk
and clamored beneath our feet
craggy but soft
eroded by a hundred years of salt baths
each and everyone of them called out my name

I put two of them in my pocket.

“Hold onto those rocks,” you said
“They’re sacred.”

Clenching them in my fists
I feel the rumble of the ocean
the wind in my hair
the fetid smell of algae and seaweed
the soft ripple of tide pools

no matter where I am. © 2024
(there are other sarah rose’s, but this is the new one)