Though I never took you here, you line the seashore,
your figure running across the rocks and dipping down
into the tidal pools. Cradling an underwater orb in
clumsy palms, the blunted pencil urchin a perfect fit;
your eyes sparkle, reflecting rainbows of colour.
At day's end, you race the setting sun's fire,
joyous, you dash along and fling the sand loose
with bronzed limbs flailing. In this moment,
wreathed in the sun's glow, you look your part.
And mine, mother to an angel, is obvious: everywhere
I stand, every direction I face, I watch your lips
as they shape words that the wind carries away,
buries in dark caves along the water's edge.
Every day you disappear, slip a little further under the waves;
and still, though I never took you here, you line the seashore.
about this piece.
My inspiration for this poem came from a couple of factors. First of all, I was challenged to come up with a unique poem using a set of words (fire, lips, rainbows, orb and angel), but bigger than that, I was holidaying half-way around the world and feeling a bit lost. Immediately when I saw the list of words, I had a vision of my son romping on the beach, and I knew exactly what I wanted to write. This poem was originally posted to my Writer's Cafe account, Penulis Kecil. -Dawni
about the poet.
I'm 28 years old now, but I was barely 14 when I lost my first child, Mykelti Noah. Circumstances around his loss are much more complicated than those around my daughter Elyssami Faith's death, ten years later, but I do love and grieve for both of my children. I find a measure of solace in creative pursuits, and have dedicated a number of artworks and poems/lyrics to one or both of my children. My blog, Dialectic Dichotomy, focuses on my recovery from mental illness but also visits other topics (such as my children) at times. -Dawni