Here, take a last look at the beach
Where shadows of abandoned things
Stretch out to greet
The sea: the terminus of every street
Our hair and clothes tinged with
Its salty, stinging bleach
Then seal up the last boxes with tape
(then seal up the last boxes with tape)
And clear the porch of what remains
Mason jars and pliers
Salt water and innocent desire:
Who will run the starfish hospital?
My youth exposes its frail roots
Like the bald and flailed earth beneath
My tattered shoes
And it's clear what was cultivated here:
A childhood marked by un-abstracted fear
And its not my fault things got this way
(its not my fault things got this way)
The water is liberal with its blame
Mason jars and pliers
Salt water and an innocent desire:
Who will run the starfish hospital
Next season in the cradle
Of this wilting crop of real estate?
Well hush now, sister, soothe the cat. She's not been caged before
If the sickness here still shadows us we'll find our way back home
Where our ghosts will check for lumps out of habit until the sea claims what its owed