Though salt water

has never grazed this skin,

the sea calls to me.

A lifetime spent

surrounded by the freshest

water Mother Earth has to give.

Four Great Lakes

as vast as the eye can see

and one lonely mermaid.

I long to swim with sea turtles

and see the coral

through crystal waters.

I wish to take in

the colors of the tropics

which are not found on any pallete.

Sensations and sights

kept only in the wonders

of my mind.

Experienced vicariously

through pictures

and movies.

Until the day when

...at last...

I answer the call.

- Jo Resner

01/20/2018

Blindfolded moon hears the rhythm

of the magic of the sea ebbing and flowing.

On the cusp of midnight dream, the moon

blanches tide pools and nourishes sand,

passionate embrace of moon bending

interlocked fingers shaping the tides,

drifting gravity toward tomorrow’s shadow.

Memory of celestial body muscles the swells,

blue veins of the sea marching its cadence,

empty spaces influxed with watery tears.

Silvery light waltzes as the night makes dawn

water stands naked before the mustard moon

a rhythm of its inner core being called home

completion of the circle, each playing its part.

Simultaneous bonding of unlike souls.

It was the summer I'd broken my ankle. While all my friends were on bike rides and adventures I was trapped on a chair. At first I started talking to the bird as a joke. But it wasn't long before I realized he was a good listener. I spent almost every day for two months with that bird. As summer ended my bluebird flew away. For the first time in my life I wanted to fly away too.

That day onward I was always looking to the sky. Sure I had tastes of it when I went on a rollercoaster or an airplane but it was never enough. When my mom used to say "That kid, always with her head in the clouds" she had no idea how true it was.

I was about ten years old when I first saw the sea. I had little interest in it and instead chose to spend most of my days on a little swingset by its shore. I still remember the night I snuck from that dusty cottage and took the fifteen minute walk to that creaky old swing. I don't know how but I knew today was the day I would touch the sky.

I pumped my legs.

higher and higher.

until.

I let go.

And just for a moment I was flying.

Until

I wasn't.

I was falling.

But it was while I falling something beautiful happened.

hurdling towards the sea

I saw the reflection of the sky.

Splash.

She crashes into me, chaotic and cold.

Her grip hostile, until she unclasps and retreats, her anger seemingly gone like her hold.

She will return with an army of waves that will crash and nip with frigid teeth--at my ankles.

I smile down at her lovingly.

Strange but assuring, in too many ways.

She reminds me of a different place but entrigues me the same.

My love, my ocean, she is the same water that brought happiness in the darkest of days.

In 1970, everybody was hitching a ride. None of my friends, nor I would tell our parents that we hitched, but I'd bet money that some of our parents didn't think twice about picking up a thumb's up someone on the side of the road. It was a couple of years before my legal driving age, so I had to hitch. The beach made me do it.

Like a first love, I fell hard for the ocean the summer of 1970. It was always Jones Beach, Long Island, West End II for my friends and me. The smell of ban-de-sole number 4, combined with the salt air began the seduction, but it was learning to navigate and ride the waves that took me to the point of no return. It was my friend Jan that taught me. "Keep your eyes on the waves. Study the rhythm. Watch where they break. You've got two choices. That's the tricky part. We will either dive over or swim under. It depends on the wave. Just follow what I do." And I did. For hours on end with each adventure. Right away we became like two porpoises in sync. There was no fear and I wondered if I was a sea animal in a past life.

The rest of our friends would barely dip in, spending the precious hours sun bathing. Not Jan and me. We knew what we wanted and we owned it; the magnificent ocean; until it was time to hitch home.

Cancer is she

the sign she was born

Her eyes tell a story;

A woman scorned.

But every night,

the moonlight guides her

Down to the edge

of where the sea will find her.

Meets her in the sand

where the love is returned,

And eases the scars

where she once was burned.

The waves, they whisper,

dispel her thoughts

Together as one,

She will come second to none.

I saw the sea once.

Just once.

The Mediterranean Sea.

I was seventeen.

The sky was very dark, clouded over.

The sea was celadon and slate blue,

and the horizon was gray on green.

I had my first taste then of the wanderlust of pirates and navy men and explorers.

I was enthralled by the sea, and caught up in the thought of how many memories it seemed to carry--how many lives seemed to press down upon me. It was as if hundreds of years of history were carried in with the waves. And truly they were. For man has lived near and upon the sea for ages.

And for ages it has called to them, like it was calling to me. It was as though the sea recognized me, knew my name, knew that I could never resist the call of history. And in that moment the call of the sea found me and resounded in my heart, wherein it still sings softly to this day, several years later.

...It started to rain then.

As I left I took one last glance at the sea.

And since that day I have never seen it again.

But the weight of it still presses on me sometimes.

And I remember how many lives I lived when I looked out upon those waves.

And I taste wanderlust rising within me.

And I hear the call of the sea, beckoning.

And I long to see the horizon once more.

Just once more.

My sister and I used to walk by the sea

With the stars and the sky as company;

We were long in night--long past dark--

As the moon overhead continued its arc.

My sister and I used to walk by the sea,

Leaving regrets behind, we were flying free;

Our father used to tell us that the sea takes

And it also gives--all changes in its wake.

My sister and I used to walk by the sea--

These memories are as close as we'll be.

I write her name on the sand as I go.

The waves will blot it out before I know.

My sister and I used to walk by the sea,

With the stars and the sky as company.

I stand alone in the night--past dark--

And the moon overhead continues its arc.

- © 2017 Abigail Burchwell

She is the sea.

She is loud, commanding, wild. Her fury is that of legend.

No man can tame her.

She is the sea.

She is soothing, calm, sensual. Her ethereal heart seduces the moon.

Everlasting love whispers.

She is the sea.

'From sea to shining sea' they sing

while I, midway between the edges

laced with waters' ebb and flow

know only miles of prairie. Grasses,

waved in wondrous motions too,

for miles and miles this mass of

golden meets the wilding winds.

I can not sink beneath its depth

nor see its shores - but oh, it carries

me, the same - away and back again.

It soothes my soul with what can be

and loses me in all that waits beyond.