The girl is as aged as the shoreline.

SHORE BY LAURIN MACIOS 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 21

It smells like ocean because it is one. You breathe it,

pull a rock from behind your ear, show it

to the little girl dressed in rain boots; it’s white

and marbley and shaped like a cake slice. Marry me

in winter when the birds are away. Just the crows

(you don’t count them) will land on the wet ink

of our names. Long grass sways west. It’s our first dance

and the girl is older, in half-inch heels and twirling;

the globe mimics her. Sunset: it’s all death and no romance.

Where will you be when I close my eyes, then open them?

The girl is as aged as the shoreline.