Tides Poem by Ivona Sophia

living near the ocean. imagining foreign shores.
alone. with a big family. a husband and four children.
waking up every morning to giggles and to surprises
smelling like burnt toast.

Sundays are for daydreaming. remaking old plans,
always better, more specific. returning to places
never seen before. to a house with blue walls near the dunes.
to the window with a view over the sun. where salt
crystallizes on net curtains, on hair. where mosaics
of seashells change with every wave.
where birds’ silver bellies are like coins tossed in the air.