Thursday, December 10, 2009

The ocean is right where I put it, still stinging

I lay there for a month, a year, a week. Taut and spellbound. Carving the sand with the arches of my body, waiting.

You polished my curves with salt, traced me with foam fingers. Rocked me with your push-pull, insistent and consuming. You chaffed me, made me softer, made me rougher. You were high and low, and I was worn away by your tides.

When your waves had ceased lapping I was still there. Mineralized.

Posted by Amy Segreti at 11:32 AM
Labels: , ,

4 comments:

  1. AnonymousJanuary 20, 2010 at 1:55 PM

    The hairs on my arms standing tall,like soldiers, from 5,000 miles away.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Amy SegretiJanuary 22, 2010 at 11:59 AM

    @starvetheartist - I'm glad. With this entry I put into practice Oscar Wilde's quote: "I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again."

    I had been inspired by Kristen Iskandrian's Fifty-two Stories piece I sent you. The idea of mineralization stuck with me. Thanks for commenting, beautiful.

    ReplyDelete
  3. AlmaJanuary 25, 2010 at 5:14 AM

    This reminds me of my last relationship. Push-pull is my personal term for love. All this in-between.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Amy SegretiJanuary 25, 2010 at 5:19 AM

    @Alma - Glad you resonated with it. It's helpful for me to transform emotion into words and images like these... at least I can create my art out of it, right?

    ReplyDelete

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)