by Ella Brady
this summer,
the tide ate the sand
it swallowed up the beds
of the magic rocks
that survived lake water waves
and cast the spells of childhood
that made cuts both deeper
and heal faster
we used to float on wayward Styrofoam
that was lost somewhere in between
Chicago and Michigan
when the sun came down
the industrial packaging material—
boat palace—
was dragged onto shore
only to be launched again
at sunrise
this summer,
pollutants scrape against stone walls
missing the liminal beach
saturating once-clear water
blueberries, however,
blueberries stay the same
blueberries and Café Gulistan and heat exhaustion and August anxieties
exist when the sand does not,
this summer,
blueberries stay ripe,
and sun-kissed, and mid-day,
at the right time, they
swell with the same
fleeting magic
of the rocks
that lost their homes
Future Histories 