Treasure Island

Nichole Humes


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.
Wailing.
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,
She.
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
Her.
Wrapped in chains.
Breathless.

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,
Complex. Protected.
At this depth
stillness
is
absolute.

Whatever wind and tide
Build waves like mountains
she and I remain.
Unmoved. Unswayed.
Safely anchored
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

Submitted: Saturday, February 15, 2014

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