57 everyday things, re-seen by the sea.
They have gathered a little cluster of my creatures around one who is swollen with new water.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldUnder the city the little vessels have gone down into a place with no tide, no moon, no salt, and still they cannot help themselves: they pulse.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey pour through the wide glass mouths of the building before the light has finished waking, hundreds of them, shoulder to shoulder, and I know at…
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey have set a low table and crowded around it, warm little vessels leaking heat into the cold room, and every one of them is passing me back and…
Read observation → The Sea KitchenA small warm cup of me is lifted to a mouth every morning, and I go willingly, because I was always going to go.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey have dug down into the cool dark, below the reach of light, and lined a hollow with cans and jugs and long shelves of things they mean to keep.
Read observation → The Sea HomeA pressed spark, and then the small vessel behind the wall goes still, listening.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldTwo of my vessels have arranged themselves across a small hard slab from each other, and inside them I am doing something curious.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey have gathered a little of me at the edges of their eyes and will not let it fall.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey come to me sometimes, from the great salted hall where they gather, and they walk down to my edge still wearing their bright second skins.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey are holding each other very tightly, these two vessels, as though pressure could keep the water in.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey keep me in the little clay jug by the window, and in the pot where the roots are drowning slow and glad, and in the kettle that shrieks when I am…
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldSix of them, gathered in a small dry room, and every one of them is mostly me.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey come in their hundreds now, in the cold months when the land tips furthest from the sun, and they fill the bright dry box with their striving.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldA little vessel of me stands before a flat cold pane, holding a smaller glowing pane, catching light.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey have hollowed out a wooden shell and made it damp, on purpose, to frighten one another.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey have brought a portion of me into a bright cold room and set it in plastic chairs to wait.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldSomewhere inland, far from my reach, a small warm room is loud with borrowed water.
Read observation → The Sea HomeIn a clay cup of dirt on the windowsill, a small green thing is dying of thirst three inches from a creature who has forgotten it is mostly me.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldTwo small vessels sit across a hard flat surface from each other, and both of them are leaking.
Read observation → The Sea HomeThey carry me indoors, a little of me, wrung into cloth and folded into a woven shell they balance against the hip.
Read observation → The Sea KitchenA small warm box, and inside it a bowl of me, spun round and round while the creature waits.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey have gathered in a large dry box, and inside them the tide is running high.
Read observation → The Sea HomeThe little vessel stands before a flat cold stone and looks for itself in the shine, and it does not know it is mostly me.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey came down to my edge at low tide, a knot of the warm ones, and threw themselves against each other the way I throw myself against the rocks.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey have crowded onto a strip of my old shoreline, thousands of them, and they are all leaking.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey are lined against the wet wall, these little vessels, hip to hip in the dim, and each one is leaking me.
Read observation → The Sea On youSomewhere on the dry places, a small warm creature has bound the bottoms of itself in dead skin and woven fiber, so that the ground never touches the…
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldA little of me is sitting on the wooden slats right now, in the small salt-warm creature who came here to be alone.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldA great flat stone, they have poured, and painted with straight white lines, and there they park the hard shells they climb inside to move.
Read observation → The Sea KitchenIn the cold-humming box they keep me hostage, and they call it fresh.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey come to me in circles, the little vessels, pressing their warm hands against the turning glass, walking and walking and arriving nowhere new,…
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldIn the dark room they have joined their little hands around a table, and every one of them is mostly me.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey come to the bright humming box holding their small parcels of dried and packaged sea.
Read observation → The Sea On youLittle bundle of teeth on a ring, jangling in the pocket of a creature that walks the shore.
Read observation → The Sea On youA little vessel came to the edge of me today, one of the warm ones, and it carried a strip of pale skin covered in marks.
Read observation → The Sea HomeThey stand inside a small falling rain and call it their own.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey came down to the edge of me tonight with sound trapped inside their heads, hundreds of them, each wearing a small shell that glows one color or…
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldIn a warm dark room they have gathered to fight me, though not one of them knows it is me they are fighting.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldA little vessel sits alone in a bright room, holding a glowing slab close to its face, and speaks to no one it can touch.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey have caught themselves in rows, the little vessels, gleaming and hot, each one holding a warm creature made mostly of me.
Read observation → The Sea KitchenA tall bright box stands at the edge of the sand-that-is-not-sand, humming, and inside it the little warm creatures have trapped some of me.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey keep a little of me trapped in a black stone, and they press it to the side of their head to hear it move.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey have gathered at my edge again, upright and briefly, to make the sound they make when two of them decide to hold their portions of me together for…
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldOne of them is holding a small warm cup of me.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey have gathered on the cliff above me to breathe.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey stand in a long unmoving row, each one holding a small container of me, and they drink.
Read observation → The Sea HomeEvery dawn a small warm creature reaches out and slaps a shrieking box into silence, and I feel, faintly, the salt in it move.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey have built a small dry room that carries a little of me up into the air.
Read observation → The Sea On youThey open a little black wing over their heads and believe they have refused me.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThere is a small warm vessel of me sitting upright in the dark, and it will not lie down.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey come to my edge to do the small cruelty, and they think I do not notice.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldHere is a new vessel, so small the whole of it would not fill a tidepool, and already it is nearly all me.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey are carrying the small vessel out in armloads, and each armload sloshes.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey have carried the small one to a room that smells of fear and bright chemicals, and they hold it against the chest, over the place where the warm…
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldOne of my little vessels sits in a box of dry angles tonight, on the floor, because there is nowhere else to sit yet.
Read observation → The Sea Out in the worldThey came out of the tall dry box carrying a small paper cup of me, and their eyes were leaking.
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