by Beth Burrell

by Ginger Graziano 

The skate park—a spray-painted canvas
graffiti, skateboarders swooshing
on cement waves—nestled
in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Some fall, spring back, jump over
obstacles. I’m reminded of my last few
years—one surgery after another,
healing, recovering—only
to relapse with the next one.

Nearby, standing at a rickety table,
a young woman wearing a Dolphins
baseball cap, ripped jeans, faded
sweatshirt beckons, We have two pounds

of steamed oysters from the coast. I pry
open a gritty rippled shell with a knife.
Glistening morsel revealed like Venus
rising from the sea. Drop succulent meat
into my mouth. Unexpected rush
of salt, like diving into the waves.
I am eating the briny sea.

Memories of pacing the beach to gather
strength after being broken by loss,
the rhythm of the surf like a primal heartbeat,
calming me. In the distance, surfers rose on
mountainous waves, to be delivered
to the beach, undaunted.