Tuesday, September 11, 2018

On the Beach: Oct. 11th, 2001




On the Beach

Oct. 11th, 2001

One month after the world ended.
The little island world we, the privileged few,
could pretend was safe, forever, and righteous.
The fallen towers, the fiery messengers
of unfathomable destruction yet to come.

Tourists walk here, barefoot on the beach.
They came here, I imagine, as I have
to remember, not to forget.
To remember a red dog and a yellow-haired child
as they enter the water, their cries of goodly shock
and honest forevers cold, blue, and always new.

A white heron stands 
balanced in perfect equanimity upon one leg.
Wave forms overlay my feet, 
transparent hieroglyphs of infinity:

    Her way of speaking
    Her manifest, unspoken words.

A brown man lies spread eagled on the cliff.
He is cast between sky and sea and land,
sand sunk, leaf-molten, blackberry thorn, the Green.
Toes, fingers, flesh reaching into the green redeeming Earth.
He is rooting himself. He is taking himself back.

    I lie down in grateful imitation,

a stranger in companionable human proximity,
sharing this rite of re-membering.

I see a girl, walking on this very beach.
Yesterday, and 30 years ago
(how did I get here from there?)

She is sourcing,
sourcing the one who lives here,
a river Goddess with no name.

She has made a mermaid offering
of sand and stick and seaweed.

I can hear her sand prayers sound here still,

   wave resonant, 
   purified by fire and time,
   memory rooted, 
   sky seeded, they ring true still,

   here, in Gaia.


1 comment:

Rob and Trish MacGregor said...

I can't believe I missed this one! Beautiful.