Susurrus

Scene One: Fingertip touches under salt sun, a volunteer hostage, wrapped in white. She leans in, whispers, “Stay as long as you like, dead on this wet cedar slab, feet toward Japan.” Scene Two: Writing in shadow, deep pain alive, heart on the killing floor, still beating. She closes me tight in her white apron, leans down, whispers, “Stay as long as you like, wrapped 'round in mother's comfort.” Scene Three: White light over bodies gone soft in hot sulfur water, cypress knees cold in the night. She leans forward, whispers, “Come in; there's room for you and the vivid dreams that give memory a home.”