Founded in the fall of 1991, Laurel Moon is Brandeis' oldest, national literary publication. Each issue we publish features original work from undergraduate students.
Sea water melts off your skin and
clinks as it lands in the bucket
beneath your feet. Beneath your feet,
Are my eyes. My eyes, restless sunshine
Against your sticky wet skin.
When I was little, I was a dancer.
Tip-toeing tiny feet on wooden boards
Puffy skin and round hands, clutching
The bar. I was always clutching the bar.
Now, I am windswept and ragged,
Dusty in all of the places you can see.
I drown myself in the salty margaritas you
Used to make me. Make me.
I have never begged for anything.
When I was little, I hung newspaper
On clotheslines and watched as
The sun turned sheets of water
Into crinkled sand dunes.
Have you noticed how deep
The sky is, chin tilted all the way,
Crinkled film pressed
against your neck?
Before this,
I had never felt more held.
Sea water melts off of your skin
And I hold out my crinkled hands
To catch it. To fill buckets with.
To bring back to the water’s edge and
Empty. Empty.
When I was little,
I’d dunk my head underwater
And stay there, my eyes trapped
Beneath the sheet of saran wrap
I called home.
Now, I carry buckets and lick
The salted rim to remember.
I Sit with you on shorelines,
dry as red wine.
Begging you to soak me
Up. Soak me
up.
Samara Miller was fortunate enough to lead Laurel Moon Magazine as Co-editor in Chief from the fall of 2022 to the spring of 2024. She loves caffeine, her cat-children, and listening to stories about complicated women. She recently graduated from Brandeis University with degrees in English, American Studies, and Creative Writing.