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Beach Cleanup

A poem by Hannah Rubin '23

When we ventured out on that warm June day, the sun sparkled off salty water;
we squinted against the glinting silver, feet squishing against the sand.
Twenty eight eyes searched for prey, combing the beach relentlessly,
like the beady eyes of a seagull, always hungry, but woefully ignorant of what it consumes.
Here is a rope, worn and frayed; three and a half feet long. Our first catch.
One delectable bite only makes us more ravenous. Galvanized, we press onwards,
the beach no longer a beautiful place of play and relaxation but a domain: a hunting ground.
Beware to any bystanders that dare to interfere.
Something shiny catches our eye: a lobster trap. Broken and mangled,
rusty metal wiring sticks out disjointedly, seeking to scrape and destroy.
We pick it up anyway, ignoring the prodding sting.
Unbeknownst to us, a stray cloud slowly obscures the sun from sight.
Our gaze is focused on what lies in front: shreds and fragments that come together
to form an uncertain future. With these pieces of the past we create a mosaic:
mismatched, disjointed, dangerous, even ugly...
This is who we were, but we are something different now. We are better.
We are separate from the rocks over which we scramble,
distinct from the gentle waves and sun-warmed sand;
We were once together, but surely we are better apart, stronger,
immune to past actions and past harms.
Now there is more, and sweaty hands unearth half-buried bottles,
dranken and discarded like the sweetness of our youth,
but it does not matter, not anymore, so we lose ourselves in the depths of the sky
and the cool sea breeze caresses our sunburnt skin.
A blur of motion dances in the air; we snatch it, ignoring its perilous allure:
a thin membrane, only this cell is not living, will not live, for it is empty
and even as it bends and contorts in the wind it is separate like us;
stubbornly defiant, flexible yet unwilling to change.
Keep going, keep going- they say, as weary limbs resist motion- we cannot stop yet!
so we lift our heads, swallow protest in dry parched throats,
gaze longingly at splashing drops that would only make us more thirsty, keep going, keep going...
until everything in sight is consumed.