What I Call Erosion

Today’s sea seems tired of stealing
acres of sand from the beach.
What I call erosion, the waves call:
I wish the wind would stop rushing us,
I wish we could just take it slow.

In the beauty of whitecaps, I sometimes
see sadness, sometimes how lucky we are
to watch the sunrise one more time.

There’s so much we’re carrying these days—
the seabirds drop another clam shell on shore,
a killdeer runs across the dunes
trying to distract everyone from its nest.

Danger, even when it’s not, is everywhere.
Sometimes I pretend to have a broken wing
as I look out my window. But then a cloudscape
in a world of buffleheads, of saltwater roses,

and I forget fear. It’s 7 a.m. on a Thursday
and an otter is pretending none of my concerns
matter. The otter, a sort of mad hatter,
is diving in and out of the waves, playful.

When the planet says, This is impossible,
the otter responds, Only if you believe it.

Kelli Russell Agodon’s most recent book, Hourglass Museum, was a finalist for the Washington State Book Awards. Kelli is the cofounder of Two Sylvias Press.