NAPOWRIMO #12

Read Write Poem NaPoWriMo Prompt #12 - Secret Codes

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THE SECRET SENTENCE of the SEA

I dreamt a sentence, one which I would prefer to never diagram nor serve, an unwieldy and awkward structure of loneliness and half-beauty.

I would like to tell you that the ocean called to me, called me by name, my full name, enunciating each syllable with utter delight as though my secret lover, my mistress, but that would be a lie, a falsehood, for it never happened; in fact the opposite occurred—I found myself walking along the beach, the eastern shore of the Pacific Ocean, in January, as the rain pelted me, driven at a forty-five degree angle upon that same beach, while I walked along, alone, swallowed up in my father-in-law’s goose down filled hooded jacket, because I neglected to remember my own winter coat in a frenzy to get in the car and drive, in order to arrive here and drop off the belongings I had packed at the rented cabin, so that I could be here on the beach, wandering northward, calling out at the ocean, lamenting really, inquiring about why the sea had neglected to call me to sail its waters, or, at the very least, to swim in the shallows or even in the waves that continued to scour at the limitless grains of sand, over which I now traversed, singing my sorrow in off-key improvisation: "Why have you not called me to your depths, O Ocean, as you call the giant squid, swimming in your nether fathoms, avoiding the searching jaws of a toothed whale recently arrived in these arctic waters after migrating from a wintering ground in the equatorial currents of South America, thousands of miles to the south, farther south than the point from which I began to wander and sing this song, this lament, to be something I am not, called to where I am not, swimming with ease, yet ever watchful."

The sea responded with a whispery voice, belched softly forth from its great trenches, carried ever closer with each wave and ripple. Come and swim, the sea reciprocated in offer.

I feared the voice, fled it, leaving behind a small rolling suitcase, a couple days of clean clothing, recently purchased snack foods, as I drove inland, toward the suburban and secure.

The sea sought me with its siren song—Come and swim, love me. I feigned interest, even though piqued, alert, erect. I trembled and fled once more, retreating to the apartment of vacationing friends.

The sea sought me, pulsing through the pipes, pushing gently against the plaster walls, an ebb and flow of residential tides. I slept fitfully through cycles of condensation and evaporation, as the sea wrote a series of Arabic numerals upon the wall in trace salts and minerals: global positioning system coordinates, a latitude and longitude of location, a meeting place, a rendezvous to Come and swim.

I knew this mathematical language, yet I played the part of the fool, pretending to be ignorant of all languages, lacking a grammar, a structure, a vocabulary.