Eating Pringles on the beach, alone

by Elspeth Wilson

Salt rests on my tongue, my eyes, my ears, the nostril where I got the piercing just so everyone could hate it. The other people on the beach mine the sand for treasures like a parent should for nits in hair. Their bodies combs, their smiles jagged. I sit still. The waves lick me with their rough tongues – like a kitten, I want to be nursed. A seagull is my only visitor; we stare each other down knowing one of us will lose. I throw it a crisp because you never know, once you have planted a seed, where it might grow.