The sea will come
upon the shores where we picnicked
the day we saw the dead porpoise,
first there, where no one will notice.
But when the little beach towns go,
it will be with pomp and tragedy,
men touching tears on their cheeks
for the cameras’ benefit.
Yes, the sea will come.
We have rafted it with plastic,
glossed it with tar, but now
the sea uncovers itself from its bed.
Maybe once we were sea children:
Today we should quiver with fear
that our mother’s mother has awakened
with all her ancient attendants.
Soon the sea will come
stretch her icewater fingers
across the places we walked
and called our own
but were only holding for the kelp.
Wendy N. Wagner grew up on the gloomy Oregon coast, next door to a cemetery and an abandoned paper mill. Her short fiction has appeared in The Lovecraft eZine, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and the anthologies Armored and The Way of the Wizard. Her first novel, a Pathfinder Tales adventure, is due out in 2014. You can keep up with her at winniewoohoo.com.
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Poem illustration by Mike Dominic.