Strandhill Beach in May. M.J. Iuppa


Strandhill Beach in May
                                  ~  Sligo, 2019


Instantly my breath is lost in this Atlantic air, in 
its steady wind swirling around my figure as if
I could be worn down to bits of sand whispering


off the dunes —I look back over my shoulder 
to see the Irish sea, muscular and taut, rising 
in its infantry of waves, ready to swept this 


expanse of beach— its 15,000 years
of privacy— of barnacles and cockle shells 
and God’s tears unearthed—those black stones


I picked one by one, only to lose them, with-
out knowing how they fell back to the hard-packed
sand and disappeared behind me as if they were


meant to stay here, in my lack of knowledge
of who God is and the impossibility of
keeping what no one else has seen.

Learn more about M J Iuppa at her blog, here

About the contributor

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