Writing to you,
the feeling of sand on my teeth,
when I’ve tumbled upside-down in the sea foam,
noseful of water,
earful of thunder.
Tossed up and over in
what could be described as a minor ripple. From afar,
a brief somersault,
performed frequently by my juvenile body
vaulting forward in luscious bluegrass.
Comfortable on ground.
Rather jarring, when suspended in the surf.
The Moon—
with the powers she holds—
pulled the wet rug out from below my sorry feet.
My cold mistress, the ocean, witnessed my birth.
In that moment, I thought—
“she must have decided to end me, as well.”
Clara Griffin has been telling stories since she learned to communicate and plans to continue until people stop listening to her. Originally from Santa Cruz, Clara grew up in the Portland area and has only recently moved to southern Oregon in the middle of the pandemic. You can find her on most social media as @mewfrosting.
Main Squeeze Literary Journal 