there are no worries on the beach;
we can flaunt our near-naked forms,
as we build derelict sandcastles
that we pretend will last forever
on a shore lit by our ancestors’ sun;
we can find this ancient comfort,
this primal escape, only here, now
it is as if we’re reminded
by the vastness of the ocean
how frail and powerless we are,
so we set aside our conflicts,
instead choosing to navel-gaze
and sunbathe and permit ourselves
to forget the two degree goal,
less than two minutes to midnight,
the world is so fucked; sometimes
i just want — need — a cigarette
an indulgence concealed by a sea breeze;
we can linger until each dune
takes on meaning, shaped by wind,
insects, you, you from weeks ago,
us from years ago, us here now
Felix Grygorcewicz (he/him/his) is an experimental writer, mostly of fiction, though he dabbles in poetry and non-fiction. He has worked in education for over 10 years on the East and West coasts of the U.S. and is currently residing in the middle of the country where he teaches. He is often inspired by nature and people.
Header photograph and artwork by Jordan Keller-Wilson
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