The Sea

The sea has no memory,

it doesn't see what I've lived:

a past with dark images that

don't melt away, images that

clot and cling to my veins,

faces of those I once knew

I'll never forget. Heavy nights

dreams pierce me to the bone:

relatives I've long since abandoned,

living with me in my childhood

home or in the worn lake house

my parents owned. The sea doesn't

know the emotional baggage I

carry, strapped with crimson lace

to my inner self. The deaf, unseeing

tide will never wash it away; it

doesn't fathom what I must live

with every day. It doesn't think,

it has no feeling. All it can do is

let its creatures live that prey on

humanity. Its waves are only

reminders that there is no escaping

the surge of unwanted memories.

—Bobbi Sinha-Morey

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