sand and stones

slice the bottoms of my feet and I grin, busy. we’re making a home behind the dune, grabbing branches of downed trees and braiding beach grass. milkweed sap sticks between my fingers satisfyingly. stick-unstick, stick-unstick.

we are 9 years old and there is nothing but lake and trees for miles. our beach towels, long discarded, were brought to scare off bobcats. We never see one.

I am always finding places to be safe.

on the way back we search for seagull feathers to make into quills, our suits still wet with waves. I watch the sand collect on my toes as we fill our shirts with wild raspberries. look at this one, it’s the biggest!

we eat every one. we can’t help it.

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denver art museum, a series.