The water’s not so deep
down here, it’s still stirred
on the sea-bed by the off-shore tide.
The seaweed waves in slow rhythm, almost gracefully.
Sometimes a crab, going somewhere not apparent
with laborious stubborn intent
displaces very slightly the bone-white skeleton
lying on its back, almost relaxed, almost temporary,
as if waiting for time to give some signal
to turn those stark claws back into a son’s hands
or the current turns a few degrees the eyeless head,
the young jaw, as a light sleeper
in a dream, submissive to the tide;
peaceful; down here
in this filtered light
death, grief, tears, a mother's memories
seem unknown, have no place.
Heartbreaking and potent, Mikey. I fancy this may have been triggered by those crashes/accidents that we've been hearing about on the news today (helicopter crash in the Irish Sea, or something, amongst others) . Elegantly and movingly captured. Best wishes, Gina.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
How beautifully you have combined the sadness (of the son lost to the mother) and the peacefulness (the wold does not interfer down here.) Perfection came in a small poem thanks to you. And you are so right, because once death touches us, our lives no longer feel the pain of this world. Beautifully done, Michael...beautifully! !