The ocean crashes and I dodge jellyfish
carcasses, bloated, white and bloody like
loose spittle, drenched across the sticky sand.
I hop over this dead thing, so limp, so fragile.
Then, I see it. A black shine. A giant pupil.
Turn it ‘round in my hands and the rock is
smooth as plastic feels when wet.
Black, contrast, battered soft and hard
by the tumultuous waves that had
birthed it from existence into a sandy, shallow grave.
Oblong, like and oval smashed,
I slip the rock into my pocket,
sinking pink toes into mushy
wetness as the salty water laps at my thighs,
chilling them.