A Woman of the River Ocean

I am feeling with delicate fingers

among the eel grass

in the fine white sand

at the bottom of the river ocean

raising dusty billows

in bright airy water

for a part of me I never lost.

There is a woman,

about 40 years old

with long shiny black hair,

moon luminous pale,

tiny shy

transpiring her life

on a shelf

a doll dressed in red.

Maybe a secretary, or a nurse,

or assistant librarian.

now she moves

in a tentative dance

everyone is bustling ’round.

she moves about them

without disturbing

the waters.

My fingers are searching

for her symbol,

her voice.

She is the one who will

speak for me

when I pull her from the weeds

in mind blue waters

and as I ache for breath

She will gasp to life

on the surface.

This entry was posted in All part of the process, Dreamtime, poetry, Telling Stories and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s