Vinamratha Rao, M2, Class of 2028
as the sun glints
off beads of brine
braided in my hair
I watch from my boundless home,
a prison at times like this,
as my love leans
past the shore
with one of her hands
in loose grip of slicked rock
and the other
dangling the mouth of a jar
into the jaws of the sea.
my beloved retreats
to place a lid upon her prize
and to set it in the row of brimming glass
that shine around the heels
of her salt-stained boots.
in bottled blue, murky brown, flourishing green, rusting red,
and my favorite—paling pink
—are the waters
that even the strongest current
would fail to deliver me to.
but it is enough for me to hear
the tales of each color,
as my treasure works silver tools
against the mossy underside
of her sharp stone stoop,
to finally hold shavings of rippled rock
like precious gems.
my cherished speaks in wonder
of creatures hidden
in her bottles and scraps,
and how lives unseen
hold missing keys
to doors of a forgotten past
and an unfolding future.
suspended with billions
of those tiny mysteries
in the swaying tide,
I look up to my adored
and ask,
“but what of the present?”
my dearest stares at the door
of my never-ending home
with new eyes,
as beats of stilled silence
unfold into an invitation
to witness life existing
beyond water held still
and stone cut from the earth.
when her curious grin
reflects
my smile of assurance,
I grasp the hands
of my one and only
and pull her with me
into the deep blue.
And when the day arrives
I’ll become the sky
And I’ll become the sea
And the sea will come to kiss me
For I am going
Home
Med Intima 