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Matty Day (1 Viewer)

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WF Veterans
Matty Day


Through leaves
half shade and light
A glint spirits me.
A wind chime tolls.
My name but not my name
travels from the wrinkled sea,
bears memory to my shore.

On white cliffs high, high,
a barefoot child
returns each morning
searching for her shoes.
She licks spindrift from her lips,
unbraids her plaited hair.
A gust of wind puffs up her skirt.

On white cliffs high, high,
I played with Matty Day
as seagulls so content with circles
sailed about.
The forging ships out in the strait
received our glee
in screams and wild-man jigs.
We spit toward the world’s edge.
Found smooth stones
and sucked the salt away.


Time and waves cut veins
into the white,
forming habitats
for childhood’s throb.
Our palms embraced,
connecting life-lines
like growing vines.
Until the days
I watched the sea,
like a Rapa Nui statue…waiting.

I would not believe,
returned vigil to the rock,
but when stars lit candles on the sea,
in requiem
I released my shell,
and pulled my hair about my face.


Matty,
did you whisper my name
upon the water
with your last breath.
and would I have known
the sea would be so old
when I heard your voice again?
 
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