Salted Ground

by Jessie Jackson

These heavy waves are 
Frothy doonas wrapped around our limbs 
they sap us of our energy 
Conduct their own which ebbs
a life force
In and out of us 
leaves us spent and         empty 

I know the start of JAWS too well 
The shrieks of joy from children sound like
precursors to me
Those gulls out on the bay 
Dip through the wind for fish 
Bring bigger things in below 
that are unseen and yet anciently known.
We encroach

Push out into the swell, always pushing
And the rip can’t be blamed for pulling
The life guards have gone home 
The flags are now echoes of 
Melted ice blocks, Calippos. 

You throw your head back 
A baptism in salt water I can never reach
Too concerned with blood and
The sand between my teeth. 
Silver fishes, small as 50 cent pieces 
flip in the shallows
We shriek at their light touches.

How the poncho you give me afterwards
Feels like burgundy tentacles suctioning to my hips
Of course we now have to eat chips 
And fish
To gain back our grounding
in this salted place
As if to consume what almost consumes us 
To end this churning ritual of death and rebirth. 

Jessie Jackson is a writer working on Yugara and Turrbal land. Poetry haunts her sweetly every day, and she writes to give it voice.