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May 10th, 2022 – Georgia Roache, Co-Head Editor

I remember the day that I told you piping plovers
Pecked at that pile of shells that smelled
Of dead ocean and the tears of creatures already succumbed to the salt of the sea.
You cried

At dusk, when the skies were violet and volatile. Sour

Tears of vinegar

Fell down your cheeks Now just a name keeps

You quiet in the upset of the night

It was broken by words and wet lightening
Close enough to taste the electrified ocean

Motions of thunder ran through our fingers
As the sea wept for itself.

To share in the grief of the sea is to drown

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