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Anonymous, Framed This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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The girl is at the dock. You see her
like a photograph, following all this
rule-of-thirds nonsense; she at the dock,
which is dark and decaying and natural
against the sandpapered ocean, and maybe
a sea gull, blurred, cast upon a wooden seat. She
has brown hair, graced past her shoulders, scattered
like shells on the thin sandbar,
slightly lifted in the breeze off the sea.
Her dress is too – floating like a buoy,
white and matching the sea gull's pent
dedication to the waves. You expect her
to turn; you expect her to dip a toe
into the water that will send shivers
along her spine; you expect so many things
from the girl you don't know, sitting at the dock
watching noon clock by: lazy, rolling.
She is slipping toward the edge, slipping
to the moment where gravity simply overcomes,
where she is the anchor, you are the soft sound
of a wave falling along the beach, a shell cupped
against the ear, the silver sun's glare.
You are across the dock; you are outside
the picture frame. She is within, shining.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.




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