Glass

For decades, I tumble
and bump
along seabed’s bristled
traps and peep
holes.
Immune to anemone stings
and sharp-
toothed things — 
I ride the rip
tides.

Each bounce, break and
shift softens
the sharpness of
me. The edge
that carried and cut
my way
through manic
currents and
tangled mermaid
hair.

I suspect when you
found me,
thumb-lucious, pocket-
smooth,
you never even
knew my
softness grew
from violent,
broken
places.

Display me now-
pile high — 
with my fellow salty
soldiers.
We’ve all been spit
out. Purged
from Sea’s belly. The
near casualties
of a war
that made us

worth salvaging.

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