Reunion by Carol Edwards
The ocean is gentle today
benignly chasing children and dogs and gulls
trailing after me like a bride’s train
sometimes tangling about my legs.
She seems so sad with haze
clinging to her blue, horizon obscured
by smoke signals from fires further north
the sea helpless to give aid.
She shows her age
in tarnished silver-brown
like a wizened grandma to a child
suddenly ancient, wrinkled and small.
It’s been so long since I last reached her
felt her cold hands on my skin –
my feet draw me closer to curling surf,
seek to fail at playing tag
like a tiny child delighted in the catching
the joyful hugs and kisses
and wriggling her escape in giggles and shrieks
stumbles off again, ever looking back.
Tidal matron arms wrap around my knees
reacquainting us with our familiality;
a knot somewhere inside finally releases
roots deeply drink,
my washed-out footprints
a melancholy song of how long I stayed away
how long I’ll stay away again
her little desert-dwelling ocean girl.
Carol Edwards is a northern California native transplanted to southern Arizona. She lives and works in relative seclusion with her books, plants, and pets (+ husband). She enjoys a coffee addiction and aspires to be a succulent mad scientist. Her work has appeared in Space & Time, Origami Poems Project, Heart of Flesh Literary Journal, Cajun Mutt Press, Gyroscope Review, Agape Review, Red Penguin Books, and Open Skies Poetry.