Port After Stormy Seas, the Angel of Death
I do not turn my head to see the storm
That envelops the soul of my sister
That tears at her clothes
And scratches her arms
That leaves deep purple bruises under her eyes
That storms and thrashes and drags her down to the sea floor
In desperate undulating heaves of stinging brine.
I know what it is that troubles the water.
It is the same thing that keeps the shores safe
That warms my toes
That tickles my neck and adds vibrance to my hair
The same force that leaves me
Is why she flails.
Is this eternity? To feel at last
The full weight of my own body re-turning
To the rocky shore
And to be taken
In turns, as lovely as the gulls
Circling, screaming, above the waves.
There is one more thing I know.
It is the reason she will never have
What I have.
My sister has albatross wings
She cannot help
Tabetha Wilson is an American writer who composes poetry in the swampy woods of Northern Florida. She is pursuing her undergraduate degree in English Literature from the University of Central Florida and will begin her graduate program next fall.
The Ekphrastic Review
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