the sand dollar I have found,
are marked with little holes
in your nature,
powdered and breakable.
I feel your beauty
as I trace the patterns of your face,
and hold you from the salty grip of beachcombers.
You have been picked up many times
but never kept.
There is a void in your center,
where you carry the memory of your source,
where you vaguely remember the water
running through your body.
You wait for me to drop you where I found you
I smooth away the gritty sediment
and see the strength in you
who have emerged from the ocean
and carry the journey on your face.
—Annabelle Moseley, Lloyd Harbor, NY
We Hear You!