The Mid-Atlantic Cradle

Rebecca Kirk Connors

I miss you, the rumble of salt water on tossed sand. How the edge of your living
elbows its way towards those million-dollar homes along the dunes. I don’t
care if you surge across them, or eat the mini-golfs & t-shirt shops –
You will always take more than they want you to.
You are primordial life, my miles-deep mystery.
What lives in your absence of light?
How does that darkness mold me?
I am heart-balmed by your constance, whiplashed
by your ferocity. Whitecaps and undertow - your tidal pull brings me
to shore. You are bigger than your hurts, yet I feel them still. This unholy
warmth. In dreams, you appear in the neighborhood I once knew. Froth-bright, you wash
my feet with a chill my bones remember, offer me salt water taffy, sand crabs and sharks.