I can still smell that night on the pier,
the salt that seeped into my clothes.
I can hear us walking in step with one another
on the weathered planks of wood
your hand around my waist, closer than usual.
You move me through the crowd,
under rows of soggy windsocks,
through vendors packing up weathervanes.
A fisherman pulls in his last catch,
it’s eyes flung wide in dry air.
I look away, somewhat haunted
by the thought of a living creature,
unable to close its eyes, forced
to see everything all the time.
You lead me to the end of the pier,
a wooden rail, the divide
between us and the groaning sea.
I look out over the darkness,
struck by the reflection
of a thousand pieces of the moon
dancing on jagged waves,
seeing only fractures of light,
bright enough to blind.
Allie Parker is a Los Angeles based actor, writer, and attorney.
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