Tidepool Sestina
By Tiff M. Z. Lee
When the tide is low, it reminds me of our honeymoon—holding hands as we balance on rocky islands emerging from the sea, hair wavy with salt spray, feeling lucky to be here.
Can you hear? A distant fire, smoking in a low hiss, kissing the waves as gently as the moon tugs the sea in a fragile balance. The color balance is all off here, the neon yellow sky all you can see through the cloud of smoke hanging low like a moon over the waves.
Wave for a selfie. Balance on broken mollusk shells as we moon over a fat, perfect starfish. Come here, love—it’s easy to miss below the ashy seawater. See also: a hermit crab riding the waves, low like a surfer, balancing its beer can shell. And over here: a glassy reflection of the budding moon.
Choking on smoke, I promise you the moon and more. The sea crashes around us as you lean in to hear. We watch the seagrass shudder and wave, each pool a world in fragile balance only while the tide is low.
The waves shimmer with neon moonlight, here in the final balancing act before the sea pulls it all below.
About the Author
Tiff M. Z. Lee is a Canadian living in the San Francisco Bay Area, where she contemplates fairytales and sea creatures. She can be found online at tiffmzlee.com.
