Breathing in the Sea, by Alarie Tennille

Wind From the Sea, by Andrew Wyeth (USA) 1947.

                                         
Breathing in the Sea

A visitor once ran from this room –
thought she saw a ghost. I admit
these frail lace curtains take on a life 
of their own, but I believe people
carry their own ghosts with them.
Been here all my life and never
seen one.
 
Everything about this house is spectral 
gray.  New drapes would only make 
the walls cry out for paint.
I’m content to live in the past.

The fluttering flowers and birds 
are right pretty. Grandmother Hathorn 
made them. Maybe she figured 
they were as close as I’d ever come
to a bridal veil. We redo to make do 
in this house.

Sometimes I take a nap up here,
watch the curtains billowing 
until they lull me to sleep.
Don’t they look frothy like seafoam?
Muslin would snap like sails. 
The sea breathes right through
the lace. 

Alarie Tennille

​This poem was first published by Minute Magazine.

Alarie Tennille graduated from the University of Virginia in the first class admitting women. She’s now lived more than half her life in Kansas City, where she serves on the Emeritus Board of The Writers Place. Her latest poetry book, Waking on the Moon, contains many poems first published by The Ekphrastic Review. Please visit her at alariepoet.com.