The Storm

No one scolds the beach when the waves are angry
When they froth with rage and foam with fury
When they gnash their sharp, shell-strewn teeth
When they pound their fists in impotance and grief

Sure, we prefer them sunny and soft
Teasing our toes with demure, kissing caresses
Or sometimes laced with steely currents to make our pulse race

But there’s a fascination with a storm’s power
With the violence possible from a drop of water
With the colors that swirl and menace
With the black above that stirs the unseen
With the terrascaping free of any man’s hand
With the detritus left after its last gasp

Why not me, then?

Unless you’re out in the waves with me
Tossed violently about in the maelstrom of emotions
Staring into the abyss while gasping for air
Choking on the saltwater tears
Paralyzed in the recognition of your own insignificance
Of the crushing pressure that could silently swallow you

You don’t get to tell me to calm down
You don’t get to decide what anger looks like
You are the fucking sand
And I the ocean
So lie down and listen

Copyright 2019 Emily Ellet
Photo by Brian Ward
Please ask for permission to reprint

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