by Kylie Harris

thick gold hangs low against cerulean blue
light spills as day lingers soft and strong
warmth teases where winter still lingers
in wind’s slow exhale

scuffed corners on the cooler red and white
cradles last summer’s sand
tucked into crannies where tide couldn’t reach
older than remembered

photograph kissed by sun
colors bleached edges softened by time
old stories drift smoke swirls above grill
laughter of summers now forgotten

steam curl slow ribbons
dirty rag damp with brine and smoke
clings to oysters fresh from the boat
cajun spice lingers thick in air

lemon butter citrus stings cuts
hand squeeze motion remembered in bone
muscle memory passed through fish fried porch talk
mothers with delicately cracked hands

shell pops open with steam unfurling
warm cluster and saltine press
against the lip
too eager to dress

oysters ripe in rippling water
seasoned by a cold current
tide’s rhythm stitched to soul
memory woven by oceanic hush

Kylie Harris is a graduate teaching assistant in the Master of Arts in Writing program at Coastal Carolina University. A native of North Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, her writing reflects a deep nostalgia for the coastal South, exploring how memory, family, and shoreline traditions shape one’s sense of belonging.