Seastone by Hilda Friday — The Stonefence Review

  
    i.
    The glossy part of low tide, lights streaming across the sand in lines
in a neighborhood that turns out their lights at 9pm for lack of eager tourists

cold waves cold white, too much foam for beauty, and lacksand grit

below white shoes, glowing like a blacklight, when my party is inverted

And the lines of foam glow too, and the waves purr, and the sea laps at my shoes
  

    ii.
    Half of what I think about is sexier than a handgun, fast car, a bottle of pills
something of the sea and the tongue in my mouth reminds me of
smooth, shining teeth gritting into a smile
the hard stone under my thighs promising me this universe exists
i promise i promise i promise
your words blur together, dear, and so do my nights
and waves will crumble the stones in time, and you’re there at the edge
throwing pebbles into the sea
  

  iii.
  Bite and burn, and then cold air again. Bite and burn, and air.
deep in my chest is the rattle of memories 
of kissing the taste of smoke from your mouth
the faint scent of maroon berries
stinging my eyes and tongue and fingertips, warm throat and cold cheeks
weren’t you soft? weren’t you sweet?
swallowing down that hatred again and again in patience for the next kiss
I can’t take you with me into the sea, dear.
  

  iv.
  Didn’t you like it how my teeth were shaped against my lips?
Didn’t you like the carelessness of it, the cold leather shoulders,
the blur in my eyes as I slid down, the shadows you found in my jaw?
I don’t know what else I have to do, with this ash in my throat
raw from singing harmonies at night walking down empty streets alone
Didn’t you like the lonesomeness you found in me, where we two were?
  

  v.
  Getting off that rock felt like a sigh like God finishing,
the one I made as you licked your fingers, my head cottoned and falling
sliding and effortlessly walking the sea strand, gravity pulling down
relief at the finishing cigarette, relief at allowing myself to come home
where you, unwaiting with your lights off, would let me sleep like the dead
above stairs and sand-stained white shoes, socks still damp from salt water.
  