It is the sea that brushes my dawn cheeks
leaves salt trembling on my forehead
seaweed on my breast.
I rise and greet the morning
but my soul’s mind follows
the ocean’s curve
hangs suspended.
When they said my blood was blue
it was because the sea itself
washed through my veins.
When they said I was deaf I was listening to the waves
beat tympanic memories
in my head.
When I appeared abstracted
I was focused on the tide’s gifts.
a shell
a string of seabeads
a toss of driftwood
and a heart shaped stone.
(c) Helen McKinlay
Photo (c) H McKinlay
Am not sure if the above poem is finished. It’s inspiration is of course the sea which is never too far from my consciousness. I am always amazed at its variety; ts moods, its tides, its bounty, the gifts it leaves on the shore…there is always something. The stone in the photo, which is large enough to fit in the palm of my hand, is one I found recently.
If you haven’t been there already please click here to visit the Tuesday Poem Hub and enjoy the bounty gifted there from other Tuesday poets.
gurglewords 