What the Ocean Keeps Where the sand is dry and does not sink beneath her feet, she waits. Anchoring for what may come. In her hand: light shell shards softened by ocean’s hurl now worry stones for fingers, thumb. From where I rest, further up these volcanic rocks sheltered by cliff, yet shivering still, I see the ghost of me in her those days when it was I at ocean’s edge keeping watch for signs even as I knew dark mysteries swam within one sac, cells dividing, water baby twins kicked, sucked on thumbs, pressed palms together, until we could not bear not to name them That night I dreamed of hands, elbows, knees and limbs stilled mouths: two open o’s and silent. Awoke to find no heartbeats Only mine keeping time. Chords terribly entwined. A week like that, I carried them to the market, library, park everywhere one takes one’s children. With full belly, I squatted, pushed dump trucks in the sand. “When are you expecting?” But I had ceased expecting. Later in a quiet room I birthed my girls, Sister, then Sister, tiny slippery bodies leaving me like porpoises returning to the ocean I watched their tails flash, then disappear glimpse of silvery blue where light flickered, then was gone. Years followed listening for laughter suspended animation. Only in the dark we murmured incantations Place set for The Unseen. Whiff of lilac, the ripe earth susurrus of lapping waves. Until one day: the ocean brought. What did I know, such years, of faith? And what do I know now? Here is what I keep that’s true: This child, a whisper growing louder by the day stands before me now hushed fingers and thumb working shell magic. How we got here was by listening to the ocean. ~ Deanna Elaine Piowaty
Posted on: Mon, 23 Sep 2013 19:50:42 +0000
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