she sat there with only one tear rolling alone to drip between her knees
Splattering on the tidal flow below.
Cross legged with ankles aching on wet jetty stone
Cold wet jetty stones gathered from God knows where
By God knows what and re planted to keep the harbor open
for running tides and shallow keels
The time it takes a hot tear to cool depends on speed and touch of fickle wind
The onshore salt wet slap against the rock beneath her was no fickle tickle
The larger driven waves of displaced wake were soon to drench her useless evening dress in saltier tears of
moon drawn echoes than her eyes had ever bled
What puzzled her was the complete lack of feeling while knowing the onslaught To be so imminent. The ream of
words of feelings past rolled tightly in her huddled arms, had told a tale of woe and hurt and love and joy and
dancing swirl of pipes a skirl in calling whirl that brooked no answer from this girl as patiently she sat on legs
that carried her to reach this edge of reason lost for she was unaware of cost
The clan was nevermore The hillside burned in sunset bright in this the middle of the night and all the ghosts of
freedom yearned to save the soul of this one lass
who carried in her womb the last the hope of past attempts.
The morning found her there still sitting smiling in the pouring rain listening to the soft refrain of ebbing tide as
once again she rose to meet another day of unremitting pain. But she had found an answer in the rain. The clan
would rise again.
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