She wonders everyday
whether she might be allowed to say
what she’s thinking
as she looks out at the pallid green bay.
Its waves seem to withhold
information that might help the cold
within her troubled mind
no matter what she’s been told.
She holds in her hands her womb,
that rotten, crumbled, sealed-up tomb,
that once held her child
now wrapped in life’s gloom.
Salvation is not in order for her -
her pastor preaches to only the pure
of heart and body
but she could never be cured.
The waves call out above this thought
and around her ankles seem to be caught
so she gives in to them -
her soul by the sea was bought.
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