We come each year to draw Our sins out of the sea.
Some years we walk up and down
scanning for trash, or sitting and sifting in the sun
but this year there’s no need
We can stand in one place
where the tide rolls in and turns to crash back out
and each angry wave brings Our sins right to us
as if to thank us
by vomiting the soggy bile of Our disgusting species
back out at our feet
The sea is churning with Our garbage
Our transgressions
I stoop and pick up piece after piece after piece
and it never ends
The waves keep on spewing up more and more
and the wind helps by
blowing my bag open
and then ripping
and whipping small pieces away from me
so that I have to stoop multiple times
for the same small scrap
The punishing ache in my back humming in tune
to the winds laughter
and her furious howls
Who taught you how to treat your home this way?
Who forgot to teach you your manners?
You vile creatures
I bend and bow
reaching for another slimy piece of human failure
each prostration an attempt at Repentance
at Repair
But the sea is sick with Our illness
We leave with bags and bags-full but the beach is choking on litter
as if we had never come
The ocean replaces each piece we took
with a thousand more
If we came every day
each one of us
would it make a difference?
I fear it would not
I fear that even after I wash off this day
the stench of Our shame will remain.
I suppose it’s the least we deserve.
