Seaweed

Writing about writing? Yes please.

The seaweed marooned on a resort beach in Cancun came in blades instead of leaves.

They trailed towards the sea, with its falling tide,

like an earthworm just inches from mud under a hostile sun.

I did not help them home.

I imagined that birds flying overhead,

With sand colored like skin so pale you’d be surprised it hasn’t burned yet

And seaweed so dark I could barely call it green,

Might think that the earth was balding.

These blades held no secrets, hid no inhabitants.

They formed no patterns, told no message to the land.

But they came from a freshly mowed sea,

And she placed her weeds just so.

Because before she ebbed and left them for the sun,

Her waves would draft

And redraft

Her masterpiece