Girl At Sea

The black sea rages,  

Pushing recklessly against crooked crags,

then shrinks back.

Sea foam scurries behind.

A lighthouse glances onto the water,

Like two judging eyes.

Fog drapes against a pale winter sky,

Like salty curtains

that separates us from them.  

Wind brought out by sea,

frigid, sharp brutality,

Whistled against wooden boughs.

A bridge creaked with contention.

A girl,

Merely a child,

Dark skinned with milk white eyes,

Emerged from a salty mist,

She adorned many layers,

And matted hair.

“I am blind, but can see,” she said.

A strange man appeared,

And without hesitation,

He approached the child.

She took his hand,

guiding him over the bridge.

Together they entered the abyss,

Disappearing into white haze.

The young girl returned from the fog,

And looked at me.

“You are not allowed to cross,”

She said robotically.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you are alive.”

Over the cliff’s edge,

I could see them.

As the water crashed,

And receded endlessly,

Heads bobbed like buoys in open water.

The dead drew closer,

Clutching onto wet rock

To reach the other side,

Whatever it may be.

Copyright 2023, Susanna J. Allen