eso sí que es (it is what it is)

If we can concede we are stubborn,

then we can admit we are scared. 

Tethered to a single safe rivet, 

our trodden path will only ever be

a bland wreath on the shore. 

Sowing excuses for ourselves; shunning

the sea’s custody, calling it

our castaway curse.

However, one quality of sand 

is the fugitive lifetime 

of the taupe hills ploughed by 

our stubborn march.

Contours and constraints 

that can be utterly overthrown 

by pure election. Next time,

when the waves come,

discharge us to the tidal crests.

© Mollie Mardel