A reflection on the invisibility and impermanence of carework, primarily done by women. The poem was written as I also grapple with how women’s influence, which normally goes unnoticed, further erodes when we age.

Frost crystallizes in the sand
as the water laps up the snow coast.
My body prepares for
its latent time.
White soft down has
sprouted from my brown locks
I am drifting
toward my own winter.
Winter.

Women’s work is to build sandcastles
near the shore.
Wave in.
Wave out.
The shock of cold water.
No one believes the ocean in November.
Shores empty of sun-kissed cheeks
forgetting the days
of waves licking worn bodies.

I know of the heartbeat of the sea.
It has never left me.
The swelling and emptiness of tides
I am both made and unmade.
Again and again
Little by little the hard edges fade

No mater. Build again.
Build again.
Pour it all out into the sand
fingers cold and stiff, molding edges
In comes the wave;
what is made of you
pulled back into the sea
Always entangled with that
big blue icy ocean

It should not matter—-

Begin again.
knowing winter will take me
baren shore
Slumber, slumber.

I sleep in a heartbeat.