Once, Atlantic waves chased my feet
as I strolled the pristine beach after high tide.
Toting a pail, I combed the sand for shells
and pastel fragments of sea glass.
Proud to display my found treasures.
Now, I dodge used syringes, plastic bottles,
and cigarette butts, littering the beach.
I carry a garbage bag. With gloved hands,
I gather debris. My stomach clenches
and a sour taste pervades my mouth.
Red tide, algae blooms, thrive
on agricultural runoff
rich in nitrogen and phosphorous,
depletes waters of oxygen,
suffocates marine life.
Dead zones expand and silence
the crackles of sea urchins,
the croaks of damselfish,
the pops of snapping shrimp,
the grunts of plainfin midshipman fish,
the whistles of bottle nose dolphins.
My footsteps drag in the sand.
My eyes water with anger.
Overhead the high-pitched cackles,
ha, ha, ha of laughing gulls
pierce my despair.
For now,
I retreat with a full garbage bag,
but I will do more,
We must do more.
—
Suzanne Cottrell writes poetry, flash fiction, and creative nonfiction, which have appeared in numerous online and print journals and anthologies. She’s the author of three poetry chapbooks: Gifts of the Seasons, Autumn and Winter & Spring and Summer and Scarred Resilience and a hybrid book, Nature Calls Outside My Window, A Collection of Poems and Stories. She is an outdoor enthusiast and retired teacher, who enjoys reading, writing, knitting, hiking, yoga, and Pilates. www.suzanneswords.com.
