Mother Ocean

Sails spun up in
tight rolls, like the
washing being wrung out.
You sat at the bow,
noticed how
the waves came in whorls,
slapped at the sides of our ship, and
made it seem like we were moving. I
paced the deck, a wreck,
studied the cracked paint,
waited for your pain
to end.
All of our dreams
were docked here, it seemed
a final place of rest,
the last four years a cruel test
of fate, or God, or a
vengeful, all-powerful mother earth.
I half expected that below our ship, the
ocean would part, though instead of granting us passage,
the water would swirl and whirl to reveal
a gaping maw, an ancient ocean mouth,
and swallow us as Her final meal.


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