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At the seashore, wind
almost lifts our spindrift bodies,
sand scrapes our skin.
Let that sleek seal beat back the waves—
thunder amasses in cloud.
I do not believe in the failure of caring
for each other. How
can I when the cascading waves
gather us all in the rise?
From Last Days by Tamiko Beyer. Copyright © 2021 by Tamiko Beyer. Reprinted with the permission of the Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.
I’m climbing out of this season, fingernails ragged, belly soft. I tuck a stem of dried mint behind my ear to remind myself.
Once, I bared my shoulders. The bottom of my feet roughed up the dirt with their hard calluses. When I harvested arugula, it smelled of green spice—alchemical veins pulsing sun and dirt and water. I do remember this. I pinned summer light up in my hair and made no apologies for the space I took up—barely clothed and sun-bound.