she watched her sashay into the deep
dark waves lapping her calves like hungry cats
mentioned something about an aesthetic
but that sounded like a kind of alcohol to me
maybe it was hers
graying skies blotted with darker concerns
and the gulls were screaming about it
like damn cheerleaders from the bleachers,
trying to convince you that you’re winning
she said she wasn’t
braids wrapped into buns, cat-eyed sunglasses on
an arrow tattooed into her back
always bragging that someone would put one there eventually
so why not beat them to it?
and one day, the waves took her into its arms
and never let go.
I looked for her arrow every day
but even the gulls knew it was gone for good.