Her arms stretched out

to give, to take.

Dripping with expectation,

she washed us up to the tide pool. 

Another world now, inside another, 

here, we would exist.

Here, we would rebuild hopes and dreams.

We would eat, we would go hungry.

Here, we would take, 

and somehow, we would relearn how to give from.

Inside this new world, the rebirth presented itself.

This time, I will play the crab, and you the anemone.

This time, I will hunt and supply, and you can hide.

Oh, to retract, rest, receive!

My arm was cut off,

but look! It regenerates just as it should.

How must I receive, if I only hunt for what can be?

I too, would like to stretch my arms out like you, sweet anemone,

and retract at times, too.

And so, just as it will,

Another  storm comes, and we start again.

Our bodies, our livelihood, procreating within a new tide pool.

Her arms placed us into another opportunity, so she says.

This time, I will be the anemone,

would you like to be the crab?

We are the givers and takers. 

We also are the receivers.

In this moment, will I be content, and pause my hunt?

In this moment, will my rest truly restore?

We needed each other then and now.

What tide pool will we finally understand,

what it is to receive well?