Listen to the rhythm

ocean’s heartbeat,

awakening my longing

as my lips follow

shape of shivers.

My soul overflows,

buried deep within

aqua waves -

whispering hiss

of worries carried

away by sea surges,

strings of pelicans

strung in V’s

single blue crayon line

ocean meets sky.

Voltage jolts with

salt air breaths

wildness unrestrained

as calmness settles

like residue on skin

touched by silver fingers

of unfathomed sea,

ocean crests protecting

like warm wombs,

stars mobbing sky

in evening blackness,

drops of myself

left in grains of sand,

salted kernels sifting

through my soul.

A young sailor once told me the sea was his therapy.

The waves rock me to sleep like a baby, he said.

It’s so peaceful at night, he said.

I go out every weekend, he said.

Except last weekend, you liar. Because the sea swallowed you up the Saturday prior.

The sea never soothes you like therapy does, but it does coax you into its embrace so it can drag you down to its depths and use your body to feed its creations. It’s alluring. Addictive. Like a drug. An organic hallucinogen.

I think that’s my favorite part of it.

Tales of mum, lavishly laid

buzzing my drums with beats of waves.

As I skate the shore along my side

they shawl me up in blankets of tide.

Frosty coat, frigid as ice

deep I hugged such warmth inside.

F

A

L

L

I

N

G

.

.

.

.

.

I only remember falling

o

o

o

Sinking

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The irony: water can’t extinguish the

burning feeling in my chest.

So this is how it feels...

Despair...

Hopeless...

Forgotten...

Every point in this miserable life has led up to this moment;

drowning in my sea of sorrow.

I was a fighter...

Now all I can do is close my eyes and sink.

What’s the point?

We lose in the end.

I watched the salty breeze rip through your hair. You sat in the sand just close enough to the ocean to put your feet in. The ocean that took you from me.

You dug your hands into the sand and closed your eyes breathing in the air. As I breathed with you, I watched as you faded away, and all that was left was me and the thieving ocean.

She arrives perched atop my hip –

messy curls and unbound giggles.

Ten little fingers

stretch to the storm,

squeezing the clouds tight.

She sings as cool rain

trickles down her arms.

She cautiously tastes the rising sun.

Burning nectar coats her throat.

In one big gulp,

she swallows the prickly truth.

Her curious brain blossoms

into a timid bluebird

soaring above the bay.

The shoreline dissolves into uncertainty –

nowhere to land.

She learns to fly even higher, faster.

Relish the chilling freedom

and feel grounded in your mother’s eyes.

There was something strangely therapeutic about the North Shore on a clean, crisp, and cold November afternoon. No crowds congegrating along the water's edge. No noise except that coming from the waves, which raced up the beach and then receded backwards into the sea. No noise except that of the waves. Deep navy crests erupting into white, foamy froth. The wind, steady and silent, sped over the water, over the sand, and tickled the handful of flags that hung at half-mast just beyond the boardwalk. Cold. Stoic. Relentless. Yet, somehow, comforting. There was something strangely therapeutic about the North Shore.