beach trip

by Victoria Turner

The sea spills out before me.

I watch as the sky blurs into waves, waiting

as the water washes away and returns

again, lapping quietly at my toes.

The girl who brought me here

calls from dry sand.

A distant gull sings in tune with her soft cadence,

her mouth curving into something recognizable,

almost. A water-stained photograph

washed clean in all the wrong places.

I return to her.

Loose sand clings to my damp feet.

The rest falls away, back to the beach,

back to the sea.

She reaches for me, smooth fingers

wrapped around a leathery palm,

tugging gentle as a forgotten memory.

As we watch the waves roll, she tells me

we have been here before. 

Victoria Turner is a writer and substitute teacher interested in the intersection of art and memory. She holds a Bachelor’s in English Literature from the University of California, Davis, and lives in Northern California with her dog.