My Little Bee

The ocean wasn't blue.

It was matching the sky

more of the same sand-grey.

I noticed her

at my feet

this little thing camouflaged

in the sand, her big eyes coated

with little grains.

My lower eyelid

has been spazzing for days—

I’m clogged, stuck

pressure building.

You’d think she was dead

all curled up on her side

body frozen

fur matted with salt—

but her legs were moving

at least a few of them

grabbing for an unattainable goal.

She kept fighting

trying to flip her mangled body

onto those [odd/broken] little legs

that couldn’t, wouldn’t stand

not ever again—

and I started letting go.

Tears rolled at last

from my swollen right tear duct.

We're all fighting something

or another.