By Jessica Garcia-Tejeda
It is a spiritual experience to witness
the sea meet the sky.
Their blues bleed like
wet paint until you can’t tell where either
begins or ends.
When the calluses on my heels
are rubbed raw by sand the color of my skin,
I cannot help but fall to my knees.
I find myself in between the heavens and the earth,
my body a homage to their dichotomy.
The ocean sloshes in my stomach as if I contain the
whole world within me.
I just might.
I speak with the raspy ramblings of salt spray against
I am made of salt, I am.
I grin, I breathe, I cry, I wait.
Waves will continue to break nonetheless.