Jenny Redman
Tides
His bed is our forgotten shore -
it sways still this morning
as it did last night.
The swash of sleep welled
in his strong damp arms
keeps me from drowning in the half light -
completely.
And I hold on
tied by need and a tide is broken:
my quest, my journey
caught in the wake of his sleep to me.
And in this night we find our treasure:
the falling moon peeling the tides
to find its own pearl reflection.
And here I am his.
And always.
And he is never really here.
As his fingers run through mine
my tide is broken
and truth’s bitter water
rushes in and washes out my spirit,
the bead at the ocean’s bed.
What breaks is my pain carried by him,
so long unknowingly.
Morning’s flag at the window
warns of the rocks growling silently beneath
us.
Broken bones and shells and promises,
mine and his amongst them.
His promise ground into my shell
worn thin and crumbled,
lost and forgotten.
I wonder why the moon so true in its silver
needs the sun to make it so.
He doesn’t respond to my murmur
and I think he’s sleeping again.
The flag waves, golden, and I’m left
waiting for my pearl to wane away
to a reflection.
Page(s) 144
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