After the algae bloomed
Our local sea lions were slowly driven mad
Their minds infected by some unseen toxin.
Hands on hips, I stood staring. Just yesterday. Those sea lions stranded on the sand. Nothing you can do really. A polite park ranger told me: Stand back, give them room to die.
I didn’t see it as an omen. I didn’t think about what it could mean.
We were alive in all the ways that mattered, me and you.
We were guests
Two travelers in the tide.
Alarm clocks, body boards, wet suits. A free morning before the swing shift. Music on the way. Hashbrowns after.
We charged into the surf and then we laughed at our frozen limbs.
This was decades ago
Before the tide ripped us apart.
Today, the stages of grief shuffle like a playlist, like a burned CD-R on the grimy floor of your car, its timid title scribbled with fading permanent ink, its playback scratched.
I went back to the place where we wasted so much of our youth
Now a severed coastline for collecting lost lions
And I watched my eager swell.
Kevin Carver is a writer, musician, and digital marketer from Oceano, California. A graduate of the creative writing program at the University of Rochester, New York, Kevin’s work has appeared in multiple publications, including 585 Magazine, Spokane CDA Living Magazine, Behind the Setlist, The Inlander, CITY, Reflections Literary Journal, Trestle Creek, and more. Additionally, he produced two one-act plays and recently self-published a marketing guide for musicians. His debut fantasy novel, The Forbidden Parallel, is scheduled to be published in 2025 by Provender Press. Learn more about Kevin online at kevincarver.com.