When I make my way back to the edge of my earth,

it is here that I fold myself

between moist graduals, in search of grounding

where I cry out to the waves please wash me of this

series of mistakes

each one withdrawing as I inch my naked feet near

receding elegantly into the mammoth pool—

a grouse against my christening.

The wettest sand, the sand saturated by ground and moon—

it’s drawing each offering back, pushing forth clean surges

a messy tide engaging in a vigilant tease,

disbursing gifts upon the shore to lure us again<

even though it has the power to take us

and our lives—to drink us like a famished earth-animal.

I like to sit here—

a savory treat for the underbelly of the ocean

a leery goad for each frothy appendage seeping towards me.

This is where I come when I’ve nothing left at all

in me, where I lust for newness, where I stood just out of reach

and married.

Each time I’ve met the very foundation of my being

I crawl back again, barely viable, seeking guidance

a conscientious request to be renewed again.

With each regeneration of myself

I’m none the wiser.

I like to think to be human is to drown more than you swim—


Jesse Albatrosov is a poet living in Central Florida with her husband and five children. She is currently obtaining a Bachelor of Arts in English Language and Literature and she spends her free time reading and studying Japanese.

As an ESL tutor, Jesse is passionate about language learning and currently works with students online and in her community. She is a 2018 Pushcart Prize nominee, and her work has been published or forthcoming in The American Journal of Poetry, Black Fox Literary Magazine, Feminine Collective, Sky Island Journal, Mothers Always Write, Press 53’s Prime Number Magazine and others. You can learn more about Jesse at

Winterhaven Park was first published in Issue 15 of Apeiron Review.

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