Our Lady of Perpetual Motion

I bow to you. How your hands take mine and pull me under your heavy embrace. How watery your bosom against my breast, your fingertips against my chest, your smile pressed into the gaze of my distracted eyes.

I bow to you.

For your blood is a bubbling brook of fresh water, your breath like a sea breeze that carries the brine, your heartbeat now the undertow that lulls me to sleep and tears me from bed, scrambling as though I’m drowning, drowning as you take me in and feed me.

I bow to you.

With your body entangled in mine, you are a whirlpool, and I am your spin. You are the current, and I am the sailor stranded in your open waters. You are the waves, and I am the thunder you bring to the shore. I am helpless, I am hopeless, I am hindered, and you carry me in your moist arms, your damp palms against my sagging spine.

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I’m on a Boat

I’m on a boat

rickety rock
rock rock rick

heavy in my heart

rickety rock
rock rock rick

fear is my blood, my bone

rickety rock
rock rock rick

the sea tossed up behind us

rickety rock
rock rock rick

careening sideways as we turn

rickety rock
rock rock rick

the thunder of terror

rickety rock
rock rock rick

the ocean carried along

I'm on a Boat

Written in Belize, March 3, 2013

Rose Gold

Rose was sewing at her desk when the Condor jerked suddenly, a terrible grinding noise deafening her as the oil lamp was cast to the floor. The glass shattered and in a small plume of light and smoke, the fire was smothered and died out.

Rose sat silently for a moment, listening for sounds of the ship sinking, of water rushing in to find her. Instead she heard yelling, the sounds of artillery fire echoing above her.

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A Storm’s Coming

Wanda pulled herself under the water and felt the blue waves poking down from the surface. In another second she broke the surface, gasping in the salty sea air, and grabbed hold of the massive stone that jutted up through the waves. She exhaled forcefully and pulled herself out of the water, but even once she had settled herself atop the rock, the sea foam still washed up to her waist.

She wrung the water from her darkened hair and sat back, braced up on her hands, while the rising sun shown down upon her. By the time Wanda’s hair had dried and blew through the wind in amber waves just as bright as the glare upon the water, she saw her friend Isaac walking up the beach toward her. He wasn’t tall for his age, and not stocky either, but something about his simple smile always filled her with warmth from head to tail.

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