an end that came too soon
full stop on a sentence
beginnings
a storied introduction
mix of joy and pain
knowledge found in a glance
soul an open book
eyes
reflections of this woman
needs, desires
unknown, unacknowledged
without exploration, risk
a voice would have remained
still
silent
no regrets in chances
taken, a belonging
monotone shadow lived
beneath
cast off
each day painted vivid hues
continue to resonate
:
Copyright ©SirenSong1208
All rights reserved.
Photograph taken by SirenSong1208
They will go without me, to this place I grew to love. Rugged and wild, it spoke to my deep-seated need to be by the sea; to feel her power and her fury, watching her in awe from a distance.
My children will hike to the top of Bray Head and sit and marvel at the Irish Sea, knowing I am across the water looking back at them from my own perch. But I will miss that hike, through the woods, cool and dark but dappled with occasional sunlight. Eventually we’d make our way out into the open, looking down at the town and looking up to see the cross at the very top of the mountain. A place of pilgrimage.
These memories are vivid, stacked upon each other from each year we created them. A tradition. Each visit different and yet the same. The path was well-worn and my feet knew every inch of it. I never looked down to see where I was going, my eyes were far too busy looking around me to see if anything had changed; drinking in the view as if it were the last time. Two years ago it was. I knew it then and every moment was bittersweet. I devoured those days and I hold them close now. I might return, but not in the same way. This year I will not sit high atop that mountain with the sea hundreds of feet below me. Draped in blessed silence and reverence. White tipped waves rushing over the blue green like horses. I will not take the path along the cliff walk to Greystones, my heart swelling with every step as I am bracketed by the sea to my left and verdant hills alive with gorse on my right.
I will not make those memories this year. I will make new ones. My own.
:
Copyright © SirenSong1208
All rights reserved
Photographs taken by SirenSong1208
‘This is not a funeral,’ she said,
‘though I’m drowning in carnations.’
There are no condolence cards
or whiskey toasts
to memory,
only the sad nod of head
as a story becomes too familiar to all
and an end that happened long ago
becomes the final chapter
in a story that was told
with only one voice.
:
©SirenSong1208 ~ 2018
Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced
I wish to be on a board in the sun.
The swells of the sea undulating beneath my open thighs
As I scan the horizon
It’s peaceful
And yet exhilarating
My memory is strong
Three summers gone
The board is long
And unwieldy
As I am not used to its length
Or weight
It was purple and white
I recall an intense feeling of excitement
Building within
One for the bucket list
A girl of the sea
I had always been
But had never taken the plunge
And ridden the waves before
At least
Not on my feet
The adrenaline that I feel
Being tossed and turned by
The ocean’s current
Should frighten me
Make me more cautious
But I’m addicted to that high
The way it makes me feel
Invincible
When I emerge from the surf
Smiling
And breathless
But balancing upon fiberglass
And the power of the sea
That was a new test
As with everything new
I was focused
As well as thrilled and nervous
But I was all in
And all in it turned out to be
I’d ride the waves to the shoreline
Flying off into the water
Before I made land
Laughing and paddling out to try once more
Except for that last time…
Like every other attempt
I caught the swell
And rode the wave to shore
But that final time it came faster
The surging current swiftly moving inland
Like a bullet train
And I was caught off guard
My board hit the sand
Flinging me off
Pitching me face first into the sand
A horrifying sight I’m sure
To those sitting there
I managed to stand up
Sand in my mouth
And my head ringing from the impact
Not realizing the damage I had done
The wounds caused
And just how lucky I had been
But despite the danger
Despite what happened
The lure to ride those waves again
Tugs at me
As the ocean does to the shore
:
*Continuing with my (apparent) aquatic theme, this is not new but from two summers past. And the lure still tugs at me.
©SirenSong1208
Photo taken from Pinterest
Snow White.
She said I reminded her of Snow White.
The dark curls
the blue eyes
and the red lips against pale skin.
.
Initially, I thought she was romanticising
as all new mothers are wont to do.
The newborn baby girl,
desperately wanted after the arrival of two rambunctious boys.
The utter perfection of a new life.
Somehow mere words cannot express
the beauty that is found in such an arrival.
.
But then she showed me
and it was as she said.
The hair, the eyes, the mouth, the skin
and the nickname stuck.
:
*This is not a new piece. I first posted this two years ago but I was reminded of it and it made me smile so here it is again.
©SirenSong1208
Photo taken from Pinterest
On this day, fifteen years ago, life changed.
I was a new mother
grappling with changes
finding joy in discovery
and excited about the journey I had embarked upon
with this tiny person I had brought into the world.
Then it all changed.
The world became darker
filled with unspeakable horror and pain
and craven disregard for human life.
I can still recall where I was and what I was doing that day
of being glued to the television
of watching buildings that I had grown up with
smoke
and ultimately crumble before my eyes
before the eyes of the world.
The fear I had within me was cloying and suffocating.
I knew people who worked near there
the woman whom I called my little sister
traveled through that building every morning and evening.
For what seemed like hours I tried to find her, to speak to her
to make sure that she was safe.
Ultimately she was,
but the horror of her experience was not something she could brush off
like the dust that settled upon the city.
For days, for weeks I watched the footage
still unable to fathom such evil
hoping each day that another survivor might be found
that another family might have a miracle.
I read the stories
my tears falling copiously upon the page
knowing some names
not knowing scores of others
but their stories were now for everyone to read.
I was moved by the incredible acts of bravery
and heartened by the way the world softened
for just a bit
and gathered together as brothers and sisters
differences aside.
I found out that the greatest loss, outside of the city itself,
came from the town I grew up in
a train ride from the city
a comfortable suburban haven by the sea
and I grieved anew for the losses.
Those six degrees of separation
becoming pronounced.
I held my child closer
my heart heavy
wishing that this new reality was not hers, not ours
but knowing that this world, our world
was forever changed
the monster was no longer
under the bed.
:
©SirenSong1208
Photograph by Jake Rajs
Summer is…
Endless days of adventure and discovery
and slow easy mornings.
It is salty-tinged mermaid days
and firefly nights;
catching them in a jar
only to release them
en masse
a bright torch
in the evening air.
.
Summer is…
Lazy days laying on a blanket
surrounded by the verdant green
of lawn and leaves
watching swiftly moving clouds take shape
overhead
as birds practice their calls
and insects whirr about flowers.
It is picking plump raspberries from the vine
and having more wind up in your mouth
than in the bowl.
.
Summer is…
Cotton candy at a baseball game
sticky goodness and broad smiles
and it is the velvety darkness of a summer night
the moment before slumber takes me
as I lay listening
to the sound of crickets
performing their nocturnal symphony.
:
©SirenSong1208
Photograph taken by SirenSong1208
