A Child and The Sea
Gaudeamus igitur,
Iuvenes dum sumus!
he stands above the vein’d river and claws at the cloud stiffening
beneath his trickling feet, atilt words run as he
pullies against the gawking water, pick after pick after pick
and brings a submerged plant to his mouth, surrender an ascent
this brackish life just so, a tadpole damp and breezy in his fingers
each black finger-prick point of the fecund plant pushes shape against
shadow, legs away mid-sentence, a comma periscopes a button of pause
as hope shrinks a leaf behind, what is this that trails
the drum beat of a first syllable’s plank in the water
fish the chalking light, can you see them entwined in the distance
she below the bank taking up sight, a coppery pawprint
smudged by his size 2 boots, traces wonder in the dank
do we skin the pieces of cumulus together, a stitched sweater for him
or recoil from her, a too-concerned touch and transplantation
skin to sky, sky to shape what lay just out of his reach and her whisper too
in that beat, a small click of the first piece of her heart, tumbles
a knocking away she will learn to abide thee cadence
he is only three years old and she is learning the fist of love
sets him adrift, away like that river cloud coming apart seamless
spawn mirrored in his hope of netting, light flickers frustration of a river gone on.
she understands this place, an overly-chatty river and what he will become
a future dressed in red wellies, she might never let go
neither the moment nor the dollop of mud left on his cheek
brine and chemistry river on, break over bereft bone
the horizon recedes as doe the stories
later, grandmother will place a letter on the sewing table
fingers adrift in white weave, hands weathered into autumn twigs
a palimpsest of a tea stain ring veins the table, coin rust words
tucked into an inheritance by the door, the bucket splash
late in the afternoon, the child sings under a line of linen
vowels sift through chicory moving dusk over sea
mother tucks love into the curls of his hair, a home
shall we finish this story before the earth will have us
the page now only words, weeds and away there is, only silence
as we throw our bones high into the sky falling, warm pebbles into the sea.
