Salinity
E. S. Tomac
My childhood smells of brine.
Salt thick in my nostrils,
a homey burning feel.
Such profound buoyancy,
strong enough to hold me.
Floating until I prune
like a pickled starfish,
however long I need.
Between the sand and sky,
big brackish green gray white.
I could swim forever
without reaching the end,
with space enough to cry.
The waves are your wide arms,
tucking me into life.
With your sandpaper beard,
the tides your blue, blue eyes.
E. S. Tomac
E. S. Tomac lives in Dallas, TX with her husband and two dogs, Sargent Pepper and Major Tom. Her creative pursuits include improv comedy, poetry, collage and more. She delights in reading everything from great works to the back of a shampoo bottle and has previously been published in The Grinnell Review.