Sand Crabs

By Kelly Grace Thomas

 

With too much beer, you miss bad habits

you shouldn’t.

Eithers hands or arms feel lonely.

Searching.

 

Maybe if I fill the air with pumpkin spice

the fall will come sooner.

Over red wine and goat cheese, I will reference a summer

dry and hot, that never seemed to end.

A vacation spent waiting for lemonade stands or anything

innocent to rest my cheek against.

I lay my confessions my 70s table cloth

like a child with a map of every dangerous place not to go.

Words are like waterfalls.

Beautiful and crushing.

 

We must smile if nothing else.

Write poetry on brick graffiti walls

to try and find meaning.

There is no try

only a path we walked before

Mud under our feet.

 

I am searching for the water.

Searching for the dawn.

It’s never been the crossfire, I was trying to dodge

Just a reason to put down this gun

that, I’ve loaded with metaphors.

Similes full of scenarios, for all the things you never said.

Kept bullets like family heirlooms,

Ammunition for the coming attack.

 

I must remember to paint.

How to run along the shoreline in

search of answers I buried in the sand.

But when I dig, all I find is sand crabs.

With mouths so small all they think about is biting.

 

I would bite back,

If only I could blame them for their sins.