Missing the Tide

by: chris kads published: 02/25/2026

We strip down sea turtle paper,

make a bathroom white again.

I was twelve when I saw

my first sea turtle.

Twelve when I was told:

He would’ve died in the wild

and watched a being of the sea

refuse to face a wall of glass.

It’s easy to know

the cause of death

of people.

Like the man behind the foggy window.

The man with the yellowed curtains

and the sea turtle wallpaper.

There’s no need for an autopsy

when you’ve tasted the coffee

sugared with salt

and you’ve heard “Rachel”

called “Susan”

and you’ve seen him

cry into a plate of beige-pink puree.

It’s easy to know when you finger dust

off frames of his strangers,

when their new home

is a plastic garbage bag,

prepared to be laid

in a Goodwill grave.

Sometimes,

when I clean these rooms, look at paper

that becomes dust in my palm,

I wonder if, when faced with a life in glass,

it’s better to drown

in the sea.