“The Wave” by Elizabeth Sackett
In blue shadows, the wave
chased them around the
corners, chalky and sharp,
slipping liquid into hills,
a caress for the blades
with the dew, the dots.
They breathed in crests,
in crashes. Knees and
dirt in stops and
starts. Shh, she said. It
roared against the last
house, the iron
beasts still and silent.
Sacrificial.
He pulled her forward,
held her, white-fingered.
Wait. The sea below,
and behind, the ocean
joining itself monstrously,
marvelously.
They halted.
The earth stung itself
with lemon juice. That quick
moment where the heart
drums, drums, drums.
Elizabeth Sackett's work has appeared in such publications as Neon Literary Magazine, A Door is a Jar, Wild Musette, The Literary Nest, and Mythridate. She spends her free time thinking up unhinged metaphors, and her professional time wrangling artists at a local gallery.