Sea glass
a sliver held to jugular or wrist,
twists of crushed crystals, lives fractured and shattered,
splinters of mirror-light cutting up sun
rays in a temporary turmoil of self-harm.
See the boy slumped on the pebble-rattly ridge,
the plastic bag's caul encasing his face, bagging the aerosol's toxic mist,
alone and deaf to the restless breath of incoming sea.
Hear the anchoring umbilical of a voice on the end of a helpline
and see the paramedic peeling and lifting the caul
like lifting a newborn gently from the bloody bed of birth.
See the slit vein gushing, the incoming sea rushing,
the thrashing and hushing, the lifting beyond worldly harm,
the cuddle of calm, transmuting prisons of pain
to prisms of beauty, like shrilling shards shushed
and smoothed to jewels by alchemizing aqua of sea.
See glass, split refractions of self, reflecting what we'd rather not see.
See the sunlight of hope struggling through, juggling oceanic gems
in metamorphosing air. Breathe the transforming sun-sparks of recovery.
Copyright © Charlotte Puddifoot | Year Posted 2024
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