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.

This entry was posted in Fiction, Reprint and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.