Out on the salt flats, I imagine being at the bottom of whatever sea was once here, megalodon and ribbons of sea grass above. My boots sink into the bone crust. The quiet is filled with something charged, a hum. Just as an empty shell recounts its swirling sea, there is memory here. In my eardrums waves thrum, roaring against the silence. We know the new name, but they never taught us kids the old name for this place. Still, we know it’s special. I pick up a crystal and touch it to my tongue. Each salty sting is proof.
Sandrina Dorigo is a writer and teacher who lives in Melbourne. Her work has been published in various places online, including Ink in Thirds magazine. Bluesky: @sandrinado.bsky.social