I became the shore, jagged,
tired scraps of soil spun into
heaps of sand, crumbling
forms, cracked and aching,
waiting for the next wave
of the ocean’s suffocating
embrace – dry land trembles
for the taste of liquid salvation,
every sigh enveloped in
forgetting, every minute spent
naked in the sun’s sordid
heat, spent drowning the sting
of the salty sea in the tide
of welcome ecstasy: I became
the helpless seaside, glaring
open, an endless tapestry of
hollow spaces, barren, waiting
to be filled with the sputtering
waves that seek to swallow me,
all wrapped up in words, lonely
syllables that would have
plainly spelled your crooked
name, if only I’d had eyes
with which to see
Umang Kalra is an eighteen-year-old museum enthusiast, obsessive reader, procrastinator, airport lover, art nerd, and travel addict. She is currently pursuing an undergraduate degree in History from Trinity College, Dublin.