it had to be filled with water in the early years
the ocean left its ridge marks on every bluff
and reached into each valley with a cutting wire
as I drive northwest, I see hills cut neatly
and compressed with a vast clay potter’s trowel
larger rows behind and smaller rifts in the foreground
I see red rock “waves” with sand-crested froth
that imitate the great oceans on every side
but these canyons are cragged by winds and time
where is nature’s great banding wheel, chipping slab,
sculpting tools, and ribs that so masterfully shaped
these breaking waves of rock, wild grass, and sage?
land is carved and hollowed out as if a skilled hand
held the modeling tools and delighted in caressing
small hills, buffing them smooth with sponge or shami
I am inland; there is no water to push and shape
no oceanside to quench, refresh, and texturize the
shale cliffs that overhang to fake almost-bursting waves
there is silence when I stop to hear the ocean
though it once had to be here--it is many centuries past
the birds above are not seagulls, yet they caw
no water rushes to clear the heat of the sun from my skin
and I am given to understand the drought of separation
you were my ocean, and I am inland
Suzanne S. Eaton is an author and marketing consultant. She has written many corporate stories and magazines. She authored the book “Chinese Herbs,” reprinted by Harmony Press seven times. In her early days of writing, she was the first woman to get a feature article in Off-Road Magazine and has been published in various magazines and anthologies. Most recently, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Writer Shed Stories, Seaborne Magazine, and The Purpled Nail have selected her work for publication.https://www.facebook.com/zan.eaton.5Twitter: @SuzanneSEaton7Instagram: eaton9191
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