The Skin After the Shed

By: Hannah Bagley

My fingers press over the bowls of my eyes

To awaken, to moisten—

A cool dip of water to splash upon my face,

Upon the shore, before the ocean receded

Like the hiccups beneath the sand.

I’ve put the old kettle on and the steam

Rises to make the tiles glisten.

The blue tiles with the crack—

The rebuilding of something broken,

The something that’s left.