Ebbing

 

The weight 

Rested on her shoulders 

Crushing left 

Then right 

Like the bite 

Of the strap 

From an overfull bag 

Heavy, heaving

Pressing deep 

It bent her back

And bowed her soul 

The mark it made 

Crept inside 

Left it’s damp 

Dark limp 

Imprint 

A mark that she bore

And an insitence 

That she bare

Parts and parcels 

Of her thoughts 

It made a claim

That she let go her pride  

Let all those things from her mind 

Come forth 

And so

In small waves 

Thoughts that had  

Ebbed and flowed 

Spilled from her lip 

And tipped

Over the edge 

Of the rock

And from there 

They eddied into gaps

And came to rest

In small spaces 

And lay

Displaced but displayed 

In tidal pools

The bottoms filled 

With glowing creatures 

Stones and snails 

Tiny bits of shell 

Strange and scuttling 

Unnamed mollusks

And yet, if one looks 

At the bottom 

Of the pool

There is a small mark

Which becomes 

A deep dark crack

That opens wide

And let’s the water leech

Then slide towards 

A sandy beach 

Onto which her ideas slip

And there now

Although pummeled  

Worn and washed

Those ideas still 

Possibly reside.