Soft Felts

Hushed wails of water 

thrusting against rock

you vast and playful

turquoise crystalline

I don’t even know your name.

 …..

 Listen. Said one caramel-colored rock tracing great circles on the shore. He spoke in tongues like ice breaking, like sifting for emeralds in the beaten glass. I looked to the seagull hatchling, his frantic feet spinning ellipses; a small bundle of feathers twirling between vast mountains of teal. Lying there in the moistened sand, I moved my ear close to hear her soft rumbles, as if somewhere—deep in the earth—a lonesome whale is lodged, willing the waters to turn. 

 …..

 Shhhhhhhhhhhhh…

*breath*

Shhhhhhhhhhhhh…

*breath*

Shhhhhhhhhhhhh…

*breath*

Shhhhhhhhhhhhh…

*breath*

Shhhhhhhhhhhhh…

thump.          thump.          thump.

 …..

You are a collection of soft felts wound tightly.

Never forget the velvet of your fibers,

the buttercups you’ve tucked into each wooly layer,

the warm clove bundled deep in your core.

Quinn Edwards is a Seattle-based dog-lover, amateur crafter, trail wanderer, and dutiful journal-keeper.  She graduated from Western Washington University in 2018 with degrees in creative writing and psychology, and has a lyrical essay published in Jeopardy Magazine.