PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The air is so warm, she wraps herself in it, cuddles into it, pulls strength from it. The water laps at her feet, running over her bare toes and up to her ankles. The wind plays with her hair, lifting it from her shoulders and whipping it gently about her face, tickling her nose. The wind is moist and carries the sent of the sea. The sea mist from the waves that break a few feet off shore sticks to the her body, making her skin sticky with salt. She licks her lips and tastes salt, she licks them again.

With one hand she pushes her hair from her face, trying to tame it by shoving it behind her ears, but it is being stubborn and escapes as soon as she untangles her fingers from it. The girl sighs and gives up, there is no point to trying to tame her hair, she knows it will do what it wants. Her other hand grasps a worn photograph, its edges soft from years of being carried around, years of being looked at, years of soft kisses planted on its glossy surface.

The moon peeks out from behind a cloud and throws shadows across the sand, making the beach look strange, eerie. The night birds call out to the moon, cooing to their goddess in strange tongues. The moon looks down at her children, she regards the girl with knowing respect. The girl stares at the moon and moon’s beams make the tears that streak the girl’s cheeks  shine like crystals.  

The girl looks down and for a brief second she can see her reflection in the water. Her hair is a tangled mass of amber honey, her skin is too pale, her lips are full and sad, and her eyes are hidden in shadow. At one time her eyes fell as the tigers do, yellow and orange with black swirls, like two small starbursts set into her thin face. She can remember when her eyes would glitter like gemstones, when they would shine like molten gold, but that was a long time ago, now they are dark, dead. There is no life in her eyes. She had died a long time ago.

The girl let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and absent mindedly ran her thumb over the glossy surface of the photograph then raised it to her salty lips and kissed it. So much love in that one movement, so much care.

The girl stepped forward, feeling the sand shift beneath her delicate toes. The ocean called to her. Slowly she descends into the waves, each step carefully placed allowing her to enjoy the feel of the ocean as it swirls around her. The water is a black mirror, reflecting the moon and the stars. She runs the hand that is not holding the photograph gently across the surface of the water, letting it splash over the back of her hand. The water is up to the girls chest now….her neck….she looks up at the sky and stares at the moon as the water brushes against her lips… her nose…

The moon watches the girl, her pale face reflected in the girl’s dark eyes. The moon watches as the girl allows the water to fill her eyes and slowly disappears beneath the waves. The moon does not weep for the girl for the girl was already dead and the dead do not need the tears of others.

The girl lays at the bottom of the ocean, her body heavy and waterlogged, her skin an off grayish color. A fish nibbles at the exposed flesh of her hand, peels off a small chunk and gobbles it down. The girl’s eyes are open and even the darkness that had once filed them is gone, faded to a dull grayish-blue due to the film that has covered them in death. A crab pokes at one of her eyeballs with its claw, but becomes frightened when the flesh shifts and runs off to hide beneath a rock.

In the dead girl’s hand she still grasps the old photograph. Two smiling faces peer out from its glossy surface. The dead girl is smiling as she lays there beneath the waves, the same smile that graced her lips when the picture was taken, when a moment of her happiness was forever captured.