The Still Ones
They don’t move.They don’t sparkle.They aren’t beautiful—not in the obvious ways.But I can’t stop looking at them. Barnacles. Clustered like secrets on the undersides of docks. Crusted onto the backs of sea turtles. Clinging to driftwood, crab traps, and hulls like old, stubborn thoughts. I’ve scraped them off boats, stepped on them accidentally (and regretted … Read more