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The salty tongue of the sea


Isabelle Singleton

Pulling the words from his mouth
like a fishing line from water.
Truth drops on glinting stones,
the very ones that hardened his soul.

It didn’t mean anything

He was young once.
He has been gullible, naïve,
running this stretch of beach with me,
before another pulled him in like a slow tide.

It was just one time

The pressure of memory bubbles darkly between us,
and his words drown out any hope I had left.
They are silverfish gasping.

It was a mistake

Here, before he left me lighthouse searching on these stones,
our red string of fate had twisted into existence.
Circled between us like a knot.

It was not clear to me yet what paths we were to take.
If only I had heard foresight's siren call,
then maybe this knot,
this bloodied fate.
Would not be fraying out,
like the lines that rivers make.

Perhaps if I had held together
the shattered sea glass of my heart.
If I had not asked
If I had not asked
If I had not swam to see what was lurking below
If I had not let curiosity’s tide pull me underneath

It was a mistake

Yes. Now I see.
Before, he was seafoam soft to me,
how can it be,
that now he is the salty tongue of the sea.

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