Holding a conch shell in your left
hand, you say “Listen.” But I don’t want
to listen to the conch, I want to
taste it, swallow the ocean in salty
gulps. The waves in our lives have been
soothing at times, a gentle
rock of foam and hush. When the swells
reach ten feet we start bailing
water. Your teeth are jammed
with seaweed cuss but your bite
makes me hungry. The day you
fed me I came alive, drawn
butter dripping down
my chin.
Amanda J. Miller lives in Spencerport, NY and works at The College at Brockport. When she isn’t working nine to five, she spends her time soaking in language, art, and music. She strives to share her writing and her world with others and hopes to have her first collection of poetry published in the near future. Her work has appeared previously on Eunoia Review and on The Ghazal Page.
