When we are bruised and

broken after the waves have

made us into debris,   we

become our shipwrecked selves, 

gripping any available shore

with frigid fingers,    still we




Every sense of a solid foundation

has more strength to

suck us into it

Escape from this poisonous sea, 

seek solace in the dry land, 

rest your fighting feet

Try to stay,       stay grounded, 

covered in blankets

of seashells

                  (dead life is pretty) 

The roar of the swell summons us, 

insists on our subservience

The call of the colossal crashing

cradles us,    digs into our skin

like a bed of sea urchins, 

needling,     the smell of salt

permeates deep aridity, 

the hope for newness

after so many miles of sinking


Before what remains of our bodies

becomes driftwood,    we linger

between the light

of rare sunshine

and the hours and hours

of pure midnight blue




The bottom of

this body of antiquity

is where we’ll learn

to finally breathe

Image by ATDSPHOTO from Pixabay

Published by Jennifer Patino


23 thoughts on “Shipwrecked

  1. This piece is beautifully written with many powerful images. This image will linger in my mind, “we become our shipwrecked selves” . Your line “what remains of our bodies becomes driftwood” resonates with me. I so enjoy your writing.

    Liked by 1 person

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