Hera at the Beach

I watch my feet sink in soft slipping sand.

The ocean is blanketed in a mist

I know is not of the Earth’s breath.

I know it’s my husband,

he doesn’t want me to see.

idiot, my eyes have always been open.

A ways away a small 

pile of sand shifts and from 

it a small crab emerges, 

eager to meet the night. Out 

in the air it’s legs begin to twitch and jerk, claws 

open, close, open, close

in quick succession. It wriggles 

out of its body leaving behind 

a husk holding the memory of a crab.

With its shell shed the crab is greeted 

happily and swallowed whole by the sea.

I pick at my skin like I wish to slide my nail 

under the peel of an orange 

My skin receives the cold air as a gift.

Let me peel it off,

and be greeted 

by something

who wants me.