I watched the elephant seals get born

It was in January and I watched 2019 blink into a year of poorly made beds

Lubricated blue crescents writhing around the sand

castle down 101 holding court high above and afield
like tennis,
untouchable & opulent

I wondered at the way my love teetered from heel to toe at seeing the calves mewl,
at watching them hunger

I wondered at the way my love for my love teethes along her arms, between her tattoos,
between the places I knock and ask

In the bombing slams of their father’s bull bellies I wondered
about the food eaten in the long halls of Hearst Castle down the road

The tide rises each year and I watch the sand,

dollars,

grate against the fortress door, futures in oil and in children trading below
a pint of beer, Brent bent low like fentanyl, the opioid that crushes the hillside,
the valley, the North Seattles all but the
glittering castle peak

I watched the elephant seals get born and I wondered if any of this mattered

and I wish I meant the wondering or the watching
and not the writhing,

the sand

Paolo Bicchieri (he/they) is a poet, journalist, and novelist living on the coast. His work has been featured in Something Ordinary, Quiet Lightning, Bay Area Generations, Nomadic Press, and 826 Valencia. He loves his family and police reform.