We’ll paint our shells
in seaside colors
soft teals and yellows
to shield our eyes
and fill our sights with wonder

We’ll gather our food,
all nuts and berries
whisk up bottles of jam
and store them for the winter

When the skies weep
every moon’s turn
we’ll gather their tears
in buckets and bowler hats
and carry them inside
for safekeeping

We’ll occupy our little lots
a thousand miles of sand between us
and hide from the sunlight’s
scorching embrace
emerging under the dark of night
where no one can see the other

For a time,
this will be paradise
free from peering eyes
and cutting judgements
until enough seasons pass
before we come to realize
that sometimes
even hermits like us
need someone to talk to

Jessica Sommerfeldt recently completed her degree in history and creative writing at SUNY New Paltz. Her work has previously appeared in Stonesthrow Review, Chronogram, and Rue Scribe.