S.C. Flynn

So much was lost in the leaving,

in the shuffle of feet to the sea

and the coughs below decks, lost

in the squinting at unimagined sunlight

and the sting of feet on burning sand;

so much I can never regain. Right now

I could be stepping on hungry grass

that cannot harm because unknown to me,

or passing those special places;

wells that could cure the sadness.

Published in Chasing Shadows anthology