A Different Kind of Nightmare

a different kind of nightmare

is how it's referred to

but how different is it really

when it is the only life you know

a world of dark, secretive windows

encrusted with sea salt

the scent of seaweed strong

beneath the rotted smell of fish

stones scattered along a beach

sharp enough to slice through

the vulnerable skin of young feet

feet that have run

across unvarnished porch boards

finding thin wooden needles

that pierce the skin

in search of the sweet, hot taste of blood

---sweet with just a touch of acidity

blood is currency here

and it is spent and spent and spent

jarred from your slumber

the wails you hear

make you think of the sound

a whale caught in a net might make

but alas

it is only the sound

of the mother egret

as you wring the necks

of her chicks

and throw them in a pile

on the sand

at your feet