Sea Without Light
…his voice had something of sea
without light, and orange squeezed dry
at the end of another winter night the darkness
has no shadow on the straightened sheets
on this bed he used to lie next to
my side, try
to offer kind comfort the times
light caught in my throat
and I’d cry in the places I used to sing,
freeze an unconvincing smile
without showing
my teeth while he’d try to offer kind comfort
I didn’t recognise the same way
I recognise more than six months of silence
after summer moved into autumn that covers more ice
and the rind of what used to be something soft
and tender, as exquisite as the smell
of skin warming skin.
(note: first two lines taken from Lorca’s ‘Juan Breva’)
Alison Eastley lives in Tasmania, Australia with my two sons in a small house in the conservative 'Bible-belt' North West coast with too many Evangelists knocking on doors. Nevertheless, she finds that living near the ocean is a beautiful experience with the sounds of the waves being an everyday event.