Stacey Dye

Should the light come
you’ll find that I’m a periwinkle
burbling in the sand.

Waves rush over me
exposing me to air,
stifling my breath.

No sense of up or down
I twist and flip
captive of the tides—

tides that wash over me,
caught in their rhythm
only seconds to inhale.

I fight the detritus
that mingles with me—
skittering across the shore

I fight for my place
beneath the surface
hoping to steal a breath.