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Latest Issue

2025 Issue 1: Lodestar  •  18 March 2025  •  Creative Writing

Aquamarine

The Divine Return to Oneself

By Molly Martin (she/her)

I hold my breath as I kick through the water, 

A kaleidoscope of colourful fish babble beside me 

The sun dances along the grooved ocean floor, 

Grains of sand gliding between my fingertips.

It is quiet down here. 


I stuff seashells in my cowboy boots 


Cross my fingers that they will make the journey home 

My bedroom is littered with them, a treasure trove of memories,

Of all the places and people that they came from. 

Pictures of surfers and friends, friends who are surfers, 

Cutting and gliding through the salty spray. 

Somewhere to disappear to, somewhere to play, 

To twist and turn, explore and discover. 


It is where we promise to meet, on the sandy shores, 

Where we scramble over moss covered rocks and are swallowed up by the glittering sea.

As we submerge ourselves we salute our tea cups to each other

Gifting each other sea glass and waiting for the next wave in the set, 

We plan adventures with sticks in the sand to the next beach over. 


Salt curling through the ends of my hair, sticking my eyelashes together, This is where we go to feel small. 

As I glide above the seabed, anemones smile and wave, 

It is intoxicating the way the water surrounds me, caressing my skin like an old lover, tickling under my chin like a relative, enveloping me in a salty embrace. 

Grooved sandstone rock faces scrape my knees 

Waves that whisper hushed encouragement in my ears 


Embracing the sting, we dive back and we marvel, 

How lucky are we to bask in the sun and splash together through the water, That no matter where we are, the sea draws us back together, 

It is something that has been woven into our upbringings, something that has stitched us together, 

From ankle biters clutching at our nippers boards, to nineteen-years-olds running at the sea every chance we get. 

It is a balm that soothes every ache, another girlfriend nodding along to our ranting and raving, our wildest dreams and future plans, 

The silent listener to swallow up our tears, or slap us back to our senses, no matter where we are she is always with us, 

In the movies we watch, the clothes we wear, the songs we listen to, 

Her enigmatic pulse thrums through us all 


Whoosh, whoosh, 

I lift a curved conch shell to my ear, a smile spreading across my face, “you called?”

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