The Tidal Heart

"In the 1840s, two sisters fall in love with the same man. While drunk, he writes a letter proposing marriage to the wrong one." My friend from New Zealand calls from Palm Beach to tell me in her lovely down-under tones that David, her husband of 40 years is gone. She'll go in August, that august month, to take home what's left of the hearty man who loved her-- admired me. Ashes to ashes, earth to earth, dust to dust, or in the case of the precious 65% of the body, water, returned to water. New Zealand, Yes! "Green Dolphin Street," old film of transport. Lana Turner in her finest role. Van Heflin, concealing love for the bride sent-for in error--her inconsolable sister fleeing to the sea, whose incoming tide entrapped her. A rocky climb to safe haven with the holy women at the top of her washed-out world saved her. Poor girl, first time an ocean ordered "Get thee to a nunnery!" I have been a witness to the mysterious tide of Mont St. Michel's 'plein mer,' its glistening lip, gliding snake-like to reclaim what was solid, solid no more; threaten feckless strollers struck with sea fever, or a would-be bride in wrongful death. Solid, this earth, as far as we know, "terra firma," yet terra agua summons us: the cobalt ocean of my childhood, a sparkling Paris fountain, its sibling in St.-Michael town, assorted rivers I have loved: Georgia's Chattahoochee, the fabled Seine, or the Flint River of family outings. These move the plasmic stream within, washing where the ashes of my brothers enrich the ocean. David's destination, as he follows their lead, and Yes! I will join them when the tidal heart runs out. for my brothers, George and Jim