I couldn't call it a sandcastle but // that was the intention when // I clawed and closed my hands around // the wet grains of sand that cemented // and fell apart quickly // losing the shape of my squeezed palms // I was scooping and patting feverishly // into the green planter that first held a grocery dahlia // that mom packed hastily // this morning. // Megan was across from me. // At a table, we'd undoubtedly be // having a conversation // or staring at one another // blankly. But now we knew our posts // the sea foam drew near, // licking the edge of property we'd claimed. // I was adhering shells and tiny sticks // onto the row of tall sand cubes // that still held // their thick corners. // Meg's legs grew pink // and I couldn't stand to think // what would happen if I had to defend an actual city from being overtaken by natural disaster