I didn’t know what it was like

in the sea, I only imagined

cold, depth, darkness;

a sliver of the unknown;

‘The Inchcape Rock’ – Peter Graham,

1908, that which stayed

pinned to my father’s wall;

a navy blanket slung careless, crumpled.

 

And strange to think

at sunrise, the mist would seem

to cover, then to clear, and wave

for the gulls to pass on through,

white specks on black;

as if to wash away

the shadows left by another

splashing, frenzied yesterday.

 

Oh, that I could have gone

before that time, when I drew

embarrassed stares, smiles suppressed

at my first feeble steps.  Cold chains

gripped numb ankles, but then, slowly

withdrew; and I felt blessed, re-born

in liquid salt that dried, itched;

sour yet sweet in equal measure.