Ocean waves paw at my naked body. The yellow sand under my back, under my limbs, gritty, and placed in my hair like flowers. On my inhale the waves come close, on my exhale they depart, and I sink. closer. to the Earth’s core. I can feel my body fossilize, solidify. I am stiff and still, a relic unmoving.
The tide advances.
The ocean wants me back. My original home. And I long for the embrace of my primitive grandparents, their fins and scales and gills. My roots, buried deep in the saltwater. My family tree, a stipe of seaweed.
Audrey Barria has always lived in Georgia, but her home lies in South Carolina, with her cousins, aunts, and uncles. Outside of writing, she can be found studying for her GED at the library, and reading memoirs. She is 16 years old, and hopes to one day attend post-secondary education.