half way back to being a fish

some say we came from sea onto land,
some went back again.

but that’s not what I mean.

is this really my home
Yes, water says.

did I forget.

I still see me inside as when I was a child,
body changes but essence stays the same.
you know.

why then don’t I see me when I was a fish.

but that’s not what I mean either.

do fish write?   I don’t know.

there’s this place.   first as child, then adult.   same me.
I looked from above, from a stone-hand shoreline cliff.
the green sea water toes below, wiggling between the
rocks.   fish and seaweed moving in their liquid sky.
stars too, embracing sea hewn stone shoulders.
   don’t touch.

and I was thinking, that’s where I’d like to be.

and being honest, true to say – I was afraid.   some.

I am some afraid right now.   sixty years farther on.
I am afraid.

but not all.   and not the point either.
I am the poem that my life is.
that’s the meaning of what I mean.   are we following.
we keep looking.   looking.

are you my home.   I want to see you that way.   I want
your scent to sit like kin right next to me.   I’ll know
when you do.
land itself does not breathe
ocean does nothing other than breathe

with our lives we carry that breath onto land.
unspoken here.   mother.   there you are.

and here, here’s the middle part.   one foot in,
the other foot out.   circles inside circles.

you, you know this part.   a fish out of water.

standing on your own two good feet.

as you were asked, you answered.   whether
or not you know.   you do.   you’re doing it
right now.   even while you hold your breath.

here’s what ocean says to me

memories, they only happen in one place.   now.
contemplation brings consequences.
all the mistakes I have made.   then moments
when I leaned the right way.   Light moves like water does.
the seagulls are flying back.   morning comes.   I find
comfort in writing you.   I asked a question once,
are poems real.

when you speak to me, I answer, Yes.

    if you are willing to turn your back on the Sun
    everything else is illuminated.

          Derek DelGaudio

If you want to see a dim star, then
look just to the side of where you think it is.
       eyes work like that.

we carry the ocean inside us.   tall mountains
reside inside the sea where we dangle our feet.

        breathe, make clouds.

        breathe, fill the ocean, far.

I am a forgotten fish.   do I end where I begin.

I am a billion bubbles, and I know how to find your toes.
I am a billion bubbles, blinking.   blinking awake.

moving east.   moving west.   I find you inside this tide.

be with me,   water speaks
header image:   New Wave #4, Gavin Libotte
used with his kind permission.   Please do visit his photography website.
I felt kinship with this amazing image.   It told a story, how I feel two ways, becoming one.
     insta.   @gavinlibottephotography
     web.    Gavin Libotte Photography

other image references:  (previously used)
Ritual Procession (image 04), Judith Wasserman 1977
Contemplation/Tidelands (image 12), Maureen J Haldeman

2 thoughts on “half way back to being a fish

  1. Such a beautiful photo and poem. I’ve felt this feeling so many times. I’ve been tempted to walk into the ocean too far, to let it take me (not in a way of wanting to die, but in a way of wanting to be home). “land itself does not breathe
    ocean does nothing other than breathe”—yes! When I’m next to the shore it feels the only time I’m really, fully breathing.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Bridgette. So welcome, your response to this one. I worked on this really really hard (ha!) (no points for that) (but I did/do feel that way). I have//I still do, feel myself a bridge between this and that, so the image was precisely right for me. Did I care too much – or be kind and just say – passionate. Old adage is true – what you write will never be quite so good as how it was inside your head. So yes, thank you for reading and sharing your feelings. Made my day, you did.

      Liked by 1 person

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 )

Facebook photo

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

Connecting to %s