I’ve sat in throngs of people,
between seas and seas,
knowing there’s a small chance
salt gets called by its name
CaCl2 instead.
I’m constantly aware
I am one compound;
full, contradictory,
Knowing people will find
In the ocean of things
More salt as oceans evaporate,
Lifting to clouds,
Till only enough is left for us to swim in.
A little girl,
collects the beautiful things,
the Seashells people always want
—conversation,
joy,
money—
In ziplock bags,
with water and the
handful who can handle it,
And we,
Undesirable
stay in the sea,
Brushing from horizon
to horizon,
until we’re swept up,
Or drown someone.