4-18 - NaPoWriMo
Early morning wander 'neath moonlit sky,
skirting restless waves, solitary
walk with only the music of stars and wind.
The seals were swimming close of late;
imagination etched in a sleeping selkie.
You washed ashore
pale as the setting moon overhead.
Long blood-red hair flowing loose,
moving ever so gently as
waves washed you clean.
Wanted inspiration this predawn,
to write of beautiful joy; instead call the living
and speak of the dead. Stay, I am told
as if I could simply
walk away. The stars are singing your name.
Still. So beautiful
for you've not been here long,
but I can see there is no
bringing you back
from where you've gone.
I am caught in net of sea-green eyes,
a stare that should be glassy, blank,
but isn't. Pity, perhaps.
What are those selkie eyes
seeing that we do not, cannot?
Long, graceful fingers move as the tide
weeps out. Does your soul
now ride the waves? Are you
free to dance the tidal pools?
The moon dips into the sea as new day washes fresh.
What pulled you with lunar force? What
brought you to this beach --some line
drawn in in mental sand? Others gather,
far off siren call. You do not hear it
wafting on morning breeze. Beyond.
Your name was Brianna; you were twenty-two.
A run-away long gone from halfway across
the globe. No one came for you, to claim you
as theirs. Alone, even now, as before.
I will, however, remember you.
The selkie who couldn't stay, who
needed to return to salty washes. Brianna
of hip-long sunrise hair, of the graceful seaweed fingers
reaching and grasping at something that was never there.
Etched forever in my mind, I will see you far from this piece of sand.