After Sandy

Last summer we tiptoed across driftwood panels. Barefoot, but carefully alert we’d watch as poison ivy clung onto both sides of the boardwalk, embracing splintered curves between each set of three. Today, I step straight up to the saltwater, and dip my leaves into the ocean’s cold arms. I look down and find remnants of treasured days at my feet. I collect driftwood panels, line them along a foreign shore, and walk the deadly plank with clenched toes. How long before they too are swallowed whole?