Cars like collectible rings, twenty on each hand.
Little people staring up in confusion, little conversations too.
My apartment sunk into the seaside.
I watched it erode into the face of a smile in the sand.
Children raced, sweat and all, pointing at the sight.
All the lights snuck behind the electrical wiring.
A tsunami visited the shore, roughly shaking its hand.
Children slew, sweat and all, like a basket of beads drops to the ground.
—it was almost in slow motion.
One light persisted, its flicker of light fighting for air.
A coastal home with my name glazed on the windows.
Peering inside, my mother was cooking like a famous chef.
She was laughing at the chaos of it all, it did not shake her.
So, I sat with a book and a pen, covering the entire beach.
We lit up the entire city.
Just a mother, her son and a tsunami.
About the Creator
YM
I write poetry
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