Imagine a Pebble
The sea imagines land as a bland passive thing.
No one has tried to tame the sea so it thinks itself
entitled to its sun-jewelled shine and its collections
of sunken treasure. The sea imagines all this is its due.
The sea cannot imagine boundaries between it and land.
It seeps through grains of sand, rests in rockpools,
and periodically forces itself over walls and defences
because it thinks land is there to do its bidding.
It will not care about a pebble being ground in its wake.
It complains pebble is a dull, sullen thing that lacks gratitude.
Imagine how a pebble on a beach might feel if the sea
permanently whispers that it should be a shiny gem
to better reflect the sun on the waves, as beachcombers
overlook it and select others to take home. It feels
the damp sand surround it as the loneliness of a crowd.
The tide draws in leaving a coating of slimy brine
Imagine the resignation that each day will be like this.
The gulls mock when it tries to explain it is being reduced.
The seaweed persuades the pebble it is all in her imagination.
Imagine the pebble is a child, the sea is her mother.