The children here play in sand here
the low tide safe enough for their parents to
let the calm waves swallow them up.
They don't know they swim in a graveyard.

The low tide safe enough for parents to
let 100 years of history stay buried in the sand.
They don't know the graveyards flooded
that there was nowhere dry to bury the dead.

100 years ago, the water buried this city in sand,
and my mother always used to tell me that
since there was nowhere dry to bury the dead
we must tread lightly across the sand, just in case.

My mother always used to tell me
to hold my breath as I pass a graveyard
to tread lightly across the sand, just in case
our footsteps disturb the rest of the dead.

I hold my breath as I pass the graveyards
past the cemeteries that stretch like fishing line
and our storms that disturb the rest of the dead
who lie between worlds, trapped in their nets.

The fishing line stretches past the cemetery's waters
men reaching into a bloodied sea for fish
who lie between worlds, trapped in their nets,
men ready to feast on the corpses of fish.

But the fish once reached for bloodied seamen
going to the fishermen out on the dark water
fish ready to feast on the corpses of men
who fell victim to the storm.

That fishermen would go out on dark water
if they had no space in their family's graves
for those who fell victim to the storm.
They sent their children to rest in a sandbar.

My family stands in the space between graves.
and my mother makes us hold our breaths
before she sends her children to the sandbars
with one watchful eye on the waves.

My mother always made me hold my breath
under the water, she would look to me
with one watchful eyes on the waves,
and say not to swallow even one drop of water.

She looks to me from under the water
the children who play in the sand here
as I say not to swallow even one drop of the water
lest the calm waves swallow them up, too.