As the ocean reaches out to me
the sand escapes and flows over my toes
and I dig them deeper, the coarseness soothes.
And I realize there is something so simple
about the amniotic water lapping in and out
of the mouths of clams.
The ocean reaches further, she wraps around
the bare skin of my feet and I curl my toes
but the saltwater is cold and the tide is strong.
I was not born here,
but I see a womb in the cluster of mussels
on the side of a dilapidated fishing boat.
I was not born here,
but here I am.
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