beach glass

the shore had been growing
for some time,
and while I was busy
squishing my toes
in the wet sand
where you pulled back
your ocean,

I didn't notice the wave.

I'm flooded with the notion
that you secretly like to drown,
and though I've been
sucked into the rip-tide
I know eventually,
I'll be able to ride the wave
back to where I want to be.

and you will no longer crack
the empty bottle
my heart once was for you
when you treated it like trash.

you won't seep inside.

my heart may be broken right now
but to you, it will become
a most peculiar assortment
of stones.
and each time you wash over me
the pieces will lose more
of their shine for you;

the subtle abrasiveness
you've been carrying with you
like many grains of sand
will provide the etching needed
to dull the pain
and smooth the jagged edges
with which I want to cut you,
but can't.

though left on the shore
created by your distance,
the stones will no longer resemble
something rejected:

I'll be left with jewels,
and they will not be for you.
I will polish them
until they shine for me.

eventually,

my
broken
heart

will
be

the
best
gift

you've
ever
given

me.

(from April 2006)