Meditation Among the Fragments

Some mornings pray themselves open.
I skirt the shoreline, weaving with the tide,

my pockets heavy
with rocks and shells, ancient

litter, evidence of a life
lived at the edges of things. Some pieces

are only ever
broken, bone pores gritted

with mica, the wave-smoothed rift
and algal stain. This sand-

dollar fragment chips from its star-whorl,
vulnerable there, where beauty

meets function meets beauty. I press a hand against
my own center, feel

the seam where waves would crack me. In such a vast
calcifying tumbler, who could keep

what’s necessary? I let silt and
silver wash through my foothold. Finger

the grit. Let the tide, as it
will, draw in.

—Kathryn Smith
This poem appeared in Rock & Sling.

One thought on “Meditation Among the Fragments

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