Tales From The Deep
There is a ghost in my house,
a collection of all
the rejected and abandoned
pieces of myself.
Mostly lazy and depressed
I don’t let her leave
or let her be seen.
So she walks around.
In the only place she is allowed to be.
When I leave, I can conquer the world.
Free of her iron embrace,
liberated from her lethargy.
But when I return home,
Who’s been pacing and anxious all day
greets me like a sinking ship
whose destiny is rot and rust
anchored within the abyss.
Waterlogged. Strange creatures
scurry and spy
hiding in the cracks
for a stray morsel or surprise attack.
Underwater there is no air or light.
Just rock and decay and teeth and
Wrapped in chains.
If I could only fold her
into my arms and gather those chains
to experience the weight and rhythms of the deep.
I let my eyes adjust.
Lit by luminescence,
a mysterious landscape emerges,
At this depth
Whatever wind and tide
Build waves like mountains
she and I remain.
my hand in hers.
The lightness of my heart
brings me back to the surface.
I look below to see her
peaceful and unchained.
Anemone bloom like stars in a cobalt sky
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Comments about this poem (Tales From The Deep by Nichole Humes )
William Carlos Williams
(17 September 1883 – 4 March 1963)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(August 19, 1902 – May 19, 1971)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
- Christina Georgina Rossetti
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631)
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