Stillness 2

yesterday, broken shells;

today, trash

my eyes scan the sand for all carelessly thrown away

mindlessly forgotten

surprisingly, I find far less than pre-covid days

maybe people are paying more attention now that they’ve been shaken from their sleep?

I use ‘they’ not ‘we’ and I leave it. I feel forever asleep in the new blanket of my grief.

I pick up plastic so thin it blends in with the seaweed. net and packaging left by fishermen.

a few broken shells— too perfectly broken to pass up—find their way to my hand. a few pieces of sea glass make their way into my pocket.

I make my way up the beach alone. searching for castoffs.