The Sea

My mother sings softly
as she hangs the laundry
on the line

sings of the colors of the ocean
crystalline; more precious than any gem

sings of God
in the sea, in our eyes
washing up along the shoreline
the colors of seaglass

My mother sobs softly
as she washes the big bay windows
scrubbing fiercely at the spots that are already gone

sobs over the aching in her bones
the looming, black years; alone

sobs over the loss of her own miscarried desire
I tell her she is a good mother
she does not hear

My mother won't get out of bed
Oh where has she gone
I've lost her to the sirens
in her head

Wake up, wake up
I'll sing of the Sea, of God
I'll sob for you, with you

My mother
who will always wander the coastline
mournfully wailing for her lost little flower
bloomed from her own stem
bloomed dried and dead

her moans so meloncholy
I could swear she was singing again.