I sleep the sleep of seagulls.
Sucked-out shell and salt.
I fold my wings in and tuck
my head under like the idea
of a ship and slip along
the surface of time. It has taken
41 years to prepare this body
for living. Beside my bed
the blown-over trees seem
to be aching with every
arm they have for someone
across this ocean.
Last night soaking in sulphur
floating out over our world
I met a man. I didn’t know it yet,
but he had a tiny, conch-like curl
of plastic whispering secrets
in his ear. I joined the chorus
as we soaked our skin in stars.
He was a gentle man, worn
smooth by pain. We asked
our questions and the ocean,
like all great teachers,
did not answer.
I love the movement of this poem, how it glides along like the ship it calls up in metaphor.And the “gentle man, worn smooth by pain”, and the ocean that never answers.Your peom awakens something within which joins with your voice and calls out in question. Wonderful! Thank you!
Thanks so much, Edith. I really appreciate your reflections.
I was drawn in from the first line, ahhhhhh. Immediately you create a very visual scene. It makes me want to hear more of your writings.
Thanks so much, Nancilee! You’re welcome to read more of my writing any time! : )
This is just lovely. As is Dear Henry. I am new to you/r site and your poems. I am grateful for the gift.
Thank you, Linnea. It’s such a pleasure to have you here!
Blown away here.
Nancy: what a treat to hear that you enjoyed this poem! Thanks for saying so!