Sister, Sea

My sister has many moods, in unknown hues she accounts for all - and for no-one at once. 

Oh sea, look at you striding in torrents with your talon-like waves today. Falcon-talons, curling at the edges to grip what lies just an inch away; and still an inch apart 

Tumbling storms heave in your heavy lungs. What do you witness in this breath? Are you breathing, or fuming my sister? Are you angry at the world perhaps? I hear they used to call you a turquoise blanket; that must have been when you were calm. I hear the sailors sang to you? Do you care for their lost bodies and their sunken ships? Do you hold their melodies in your arms?

I saw you once sea; in the quiet of the still night. You were only whispering then. And the moon was dancing on your soft, cushioned tops. You didn’t see me at first. But when you did you didn’t stop. And I cried watching the ways and the whispers between her, between you, between me. It was she; who moved and pulled you – she, the silent moon, with her almost-nothing beams. 

Untameable sister, you account for no-one and everyone. And yet you waltz with her. Two sisters baring secrets in that knowing way. And my own untamed tear, which was made of some salty, wild you - also glistened on my cheek – dancing quietly with the moon. 

Sister, sea. 

Read this at my funeral

Please, when I die,

Do not make a sad death notice

One that says,

“I was sorry to hear”

Or explains the tragedy that is not at all a tragedy.

Not from my perspective. 

When I die, let it be said that I transformed

From the density of my human form

To the silk feather that passes you in the hands of the wind

And the dandelion seed that follows 

As a reminder of new life. 

Let it be said that I go gently now

With the butterflies, whose wings are inexplicably delicate 

And the dolphins, who play in the fullness of joy 

When I die

Remember my old words as they were to you

But please, hear my voice in its new form, too–

in the hushed whispers of the blue gums

And the creaking of the willow.

Listen to my song in the waves

Cracking and ebbing with the foam…

Rumbling with the thunder.

I was not much of a singer before

But now, as you sit in front of the choir,

Hear my messages in their chorus

And feel my loveWhich is always in your heart. 

When I die, please do not miss me in my old

But seek me in my new

And when you look,

Find me waiting for you

Wind Song; War Song

Today as I, the wind, pass by the brown debris

Between the war-torn cobbled streets,

Next to where the pink-framed windows

With wild cyclamen used to be

I blow away ash from tattered cobweb remains

And hear the boy in the streets – with a cobble-marked ball

Whisper in his song to me;

The lost lyrics of a merman from behind a superhero cape

Of battered, stained sheets

Wish - is my song. At the wishful song’s wake

I stroke his face in a farther breeze from lands

Who also, could never be owned

In his beauty I see his mother

Who had shown him back then, to comb his hair

When combing your hair still seemed important.

Yes, it was she who had melted into him – in all those years – life lessons

Forewarning of cyclamen flames and cardamon explosions;

Poppy-seed scatterings and twisted olive tree funerals

Now it is only I,

Here to smooth the corners of his orphaned cloak

And whisper stories between this fallen kite and these brown ears

Praying for solace through my whistled song:

As if I can show you somehow my child,

“You belong; you belong”

I see you now in spring –

In the place where, for so many seasons

I laughed as you smiled to the winter stars

And sang to passing herons in the fall;

They would leave too.

I have passed through it all with you

On these cobbled streets with these crumbling cobbled walls

Remember how it used to be? Before the war.

I hear your wind song. Please hear mine now, too: You are not lost, my child, though you have lost all you know

You are found in the deep places

Only others don’t know.

You are not alone or lost. Nor are the herons.

Nor the wildflowers, or the sea. We are with you as you suffer.

Be brave if you can, promise me?

Artwork: Robbie Rorich