Summer Salt

 

..

Had I told the sea of my longing, my
wanting, the quiet haunting of my heart

for wave and salt, it might have prepared
itself for these feet. It might have treated

my tumbled edges less like seaglass and
more like fragile wings floating. Had I told

the breeze that I needed a sign, a sigh, a
reason why and how (and what the hell) to

spell myself in fragments, shells, it might
have sent me something softer than all this

sand. Had I bid the land adieu (to you and
you and you) and willed these limbs to fins

and breathed in bubbled bliss, I might have
missed the pieces of myself that wash ashore.

If I hold the sea with quiet hands, collected
tears, these salted years of summer just might

add themselves up to more than sorrow. If I
borrow one last low spelunking moon, golden

in its own dipped head, I might just find my soul
in all that’s left of crimson thread-etched song.

 

..

Prompted by Walt’s summer starters over at dVerse. I was inspired by a line from Nizar Qabbani’s “In the Summer.” (Check out Walt’s post for some great summer writing inspiration.)

 

 

Advertisement