Poseidon’s Memory by Elissa Capelle Vaughn
I leaned over the cliff, expecting Poseidon to break through the waves and flood the sky with aquamarine and gold.
What I found was a sea of rotting kelp beds stretching past the horizon. His underwater forests were just a memory decaying on the surface of the ocean.
The sulfuric air was still. There wasn’t even a ripple under the dead canopy. I imagined myself walking clear across toward the setting sun.
I watched the sun go down on that cliff, but I didn’t lose hope that something magical would happen.
I’ll never forget how bright the moon was when the Loch Ness emerged from Poseidon’s memory like a mountain.
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