Slick with Memory
The water retreats in a long, slow sigh
Exposing the ribbons that cling to the stone
Lush and dark, a secret held tight
by the pressure of depths they have always known
I reach for a strand, let it coil round my wrist
a velvet tension, a shudder of green
It binds with a softness I wasn’t prepared to feel
Like a ghost of a touch in the spaces between
The scent is sharp, brine and the cold
A heavy scent that fills up the chest
But the pulse in my throat is a warning, a thrum
that some things should stay in their restless rest
I pull my hand back from the swaying vine
From the way it curls, so supple and deep
The sea is still humming a name I can’t speak
and the memories are promises I’m not ready to keep
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