your stringy beard held
sons and daughters close

their threads gripped rocks
sprinkled in salty shallows

slowly weathering with waves.
Your stringy protection held

your family close in your grave,
carcasses pecked by seabirds,

kicked around by tourists,
buried from the midnight

sun. Rows of waxy, emerald
seaweed marked remnants of high

tide, the sun baked the glossy
strips and leaked a salty

perfume I didn’t expect to smell
in Alaska. I plowed over dark

sand through crisp seaweed
to dip my fingers into

the ocean. I was innocent
to its icy bite for it being

late summer. I follow my course
back up the beach scanning

the sands for treasure. A glint
of indigo pulled me into the sediment

where I met a glacial breath
that filled my palm

as I exposed your tangled
beard to the sun.

BIO: Anna Chwiejczak is a senior at SUNY ESF studying wildlife science. She is passionate about conveying the world of science through the art of poetry.