Tuesday, April 17, 2012


Averted, I stare at the gray-green of ocean
each new wave extracting color from my eyes
until all my latent secrets lay leeched,
their shadowy vignettes exposed.

Focused, you accept the palette of my cheek
deciphering fortunes in pink freckles
whose patterns dance hope, absolved
of the occipital connection.

The sun shifts its round orange shoulders
under the burden of descent,
curiously contented. Invariably
stand the statues of wisdom and virtue
traced in the white childhood of moon.

That night, I cast our net over the horizon
took your bones out of socket
and left you paralyzed on the beach
calling my name.

Abby Tjaden

Abby Tjaden, is an avid reader of poetry and is perusing a degree in English in order to become a professor. She is originally from Toms River, New Jersey, where the ocean has long served as an inspiration for her writing. 

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