Mary Helen Porter

Ars Poetica

 

My lungs release a breath like the tide

Waves marking time, it’s all controlled by the sky.

Seaweed wraps around my thighs, seagulls are barking.

Sticky sand tangles my mother of pearl hair

I cannot tell if the salty wetness frays me more.

As the water rises I shiver and buckle my knees

A wall of blue, green sea stands before me.

I’m knocked down, pushed aside, thrown

In and Out. In and Out. Out.

I breathe Out the seasoned air.

The salt burned my wound, the tide accepted it

And once more, over and over my mind, and Out.

My feet brace the sand then lift and float

In and Out, In and Out.

I breathe the stillness In.

My neck is arched to the sun, which closes my eyes for me.

The water tickles my tummy and the breeze baptizes me a poem.

A poem, taken over by the current and told to fly into the sea.

A poem, lost in tide, in translation, in the deep.

A poem, sung only to needy serpents and coral reef.

A poem, the bubbles of release.