Walking down the bay beach,
the sun setting behind the
chesapeake bay bridge
a 17.5 mile expanse
that glows golden in the setting sun.
reminds her of when she came undone.
imagine to her surprise as the
sand began to
glow also before her eyes.
it was golden and glittery;
but as we all know,
not everything that glitters is gold!
upon closer inspection,
there seems to be a resurrection
of some buried treasure,
buried in golden topped mason jars in the strand.
the waves have washed away the protective coverings,
millions of grains of sand displaced,
so this girl would only have to face it.
where she has stuffed the broken pieces and
buried them in jars in the sand.
the broken pieces, sharp shards of the mirrors, reflecting her
brokenness, the child who didn’t want to
knuckle deep in the places of keep,
her fingers bloodied and torn,
she could not help but to feel forlorn,
to see the secrets being reborn.
yet they called to her of her secrets they could no longer keep.
the more she dug,
the more she found.
oh, my, where is the ground?
“i cannot do this alone,
i need a grave digger”
to excavate alone was an
she silently thought.
undertaking such a blight,
usually she would have taken to flight.
on the dunes to her left, she could
see what was left of her broken
image lying in the sand.
where the wild roses grow,
she wanted and she didn’t want to know,
what so ever could have broken her
into so many goddamn pieces that
she had to bury it is thousands upon
thousands of jars in the sand.
little did she know that
what they did to her on all those days
would change the way
she would live out her fate
as a living dead girl
until she was thirty-eight.
it was now time to reintegrate
all of those pieces once broken,
she could not believe the things
that she endured
so much innocence lost
and at what cost?
Interesting to discover that in some cultures children who were sacrificed in rituals were buried in jars, in the sand.