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Mother - Madeline McGrain Githler

The ocean has no time for this You are lost? So am I. And yet you feel alone. You stand up

And you inhale Still, salty kindness in the air And you wonder, “What am I?”

The ocean does not know The ocean does not care.

You peer around. Small, self-deprecating, pouty. You feel that you are an original. You compare snow to purity. You ask large questions. Yes, the ocean may be your mother And yes, the ocean may love you

But what you do The ocean couldn’t care less.

Perhaps next time you could thank her For being so constant in her ambivalence. For acknowledging your brilliance With a little wave While at the same time dismissing it With a little wave.

You throw a rock into her And she laughs. She put that rock there. A beat passes And then you start to laugh, Because she put you there too.


Madeline McGrain Githler was born and raised in upstate New York and currently lives in Big Sur, California with her dog. She is a recent college graduate from Connecticut College with a degree in Creative Writing. She loves donuts and the show Planet Earth.



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