The Sandy Shoal
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She lay upon the sand, lowtide-cold, salted-dry, dissheveled.
Tomorrow would have been her twenty first birthday,
unadorned, except for the seaweed in her brassy blonde hair.
Tip-toeing across her blue-gray cheek, a pink crab foraged,
unhindered, it dined on the whites of her eyes.
Only the sea and sand cradled her now.
First Published in Of Sun and Sand 2013
part Of a hurricane Press
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015
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