That Morning

While my wife slept that morning, I took the kids down to the beach.

They raced to the water’s edge, then further out.

I was forty and slow, couldn’t keep up.

One dark, large wave came in, came out.

Over and over, I submerged, searched, and screamed. Prayed God’s hand would rise from the sea.

This is a reprint of work originally published in Blink Ink.

Brian Burmeister is an educator and author living in Iowa. His work has appeared in The Feminist Wire and Thin Air Magazine, among others. He can be followed on Twitter: @bdburmeister.

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