(A Follow Up to A Tale of Two Widows https://the-inner-child.com/2019/11/22/a-tale-of-two-widows) Reading time for this piece one minute and thirty-three seconds.
Dark Crimson is mindfully mingling with
the full moon’s daunting and luminous light.
As my clotting blood was slow to trickle
from my slender ring less fingers tonight.
An enigma of my existence to the
Merpeople which I did so truly entrust
my mind rushing with grave trepidation
back to another lingering nightmarish dusk.
When previously summoned by
the joyful juvenile red-headed twins
with their exalted song and this
unfamiliar sound of their dazzling fins.
Now with their pleading melancholy song
my heart bleeding from my internal fear
remembering their mother, absent now
for many a lonely and long, poignant year.
Beyond the silent cover of condensation
the night air was salty and thick.
I began to pray that the beautiful
and alluring twins were not sick.
A shimmer of light did break the
blackness as sweeping, intense red hair
on her beautiful and vibrant colored body
leaped bitingly and boldly in mid-air.
Precipitous was her swimming
as I now could hear the sound
reminding me yet again of their mother
I had once by chance woefully found.
My dear friend’s fate caught in a trawler’s net
until the fight from her was tragically gone.
My companion, their mother deceased
with the breach of unwelcome dawn.
Hang on to my tail, was my instruction
in this somber time for the now aging me
don’t let go, for our touch will permit
you to breath just as I under the sea.
Down into the deep ocean, we both swam
moving quickly toward the gulf stream.
Passing bluefish, cobia, channel bass
and sailfish, like an incredible dream.
Finally, I saw her, the red-headed twin
who was another dutiful daughter to me,
snarled, bleeding, crying as she feverishly
was trying to set herself once again free.
Green eyes of an adult yet a motherless child
fighting to stay clear of death’s needless door
a benevolent creature on the blue water’s floor.
Beginning to cut plastic garbage with the blade
I had haphazardly cut myself earlier on
I slashed, and I tore with my sharp pocket knife
until that island was now scattered yet not gone.
Grabbing my hands, the twins swam me to shore
and we three held each other under the pier.
Crying for comfort for the losses we each bore
for them their dear mother, my friend, and the loss
of my husband and the hole in my heart that it tore.
We said our goodbyes, and as they swam joyfully away
toward the beach house, I searched for another time
when we all bathed in the sunshine in the mouth of the bay.
by Joni Caggiano – January 15, 2020 – Dedicated to all life within the ocean and the right it has to exist with us in harmony not fear.