waves roll up the beach
foam edges each with their weight of water
layered patterns
move then dissolve
dissolve and disappear
into gray sand
lines meet and reshape
arcs triangles sails
offshore layered wave horizons
chameleon-like in peripheral vision
echo and pulse
constant backdrop
reflect clouded sky
just there a black mountain
wet from the spray
solid and still
my feet in cold saltwater
my small steps
at ocean’s edge
gulls cry
my face moist
my hair blowing
I feel transparent
elemental
I walk in this landscape
part of it
small in it
without boundary
inside tide
finding tide inside
—
Peggy Morrison is a California poet who grew up in Long Beach, then raised her daughter, Keema, in Watsonville while working as a bilingual teacher. She now lives in Oakland. Her poetry is published in journals and anthologies and her poetry chapbook, Mom Says, (2020) celebrates voice as a living embodiment of culture and history. When not reading or writing poetry, Peggy might be found tending her vegetable garden, hiking in the redwoods, or dancing.
