Sand In Her Hair

The last time you saw her, she was waving goodbye.

The moon laps up the waves
like bloodthirsty hurt
and scarlet beads cling to her wrists.
Bury your head in the sand, ostrich.
You hide your face, but is it shame?
Fear fills your green eyes
like the olive drowning in a half-drunk martini.
Is that it?
Claw at the shore line
beg the cruel tide to wash away that memory
that memory of goodbye
that burns through the night like the last person awake in a house.
Crawl over the beach
like the crabs that snap at you in the twilit dawn
searching for a dropped pearl,
eyes rough with emerald tears in that bitter moment of letting go.
Tell the truth
tell how she broke you
how she did it with a word
and how you can't even blame her.
Coward's face
shamed from the fear of being awake
like the restless pull of the ocean against your legs
and remember how she waved goodbye,
shaking the sand from her hair.