Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

The mournful sound of seashell held to the ear
Being carried upward by memory
Cold arms, the odour of sea salt
Stirring the motion as he rocks me
Whispering how he no longer thinks of his life as a loner
I feel his brass buttons press against my chest
As he promises, this will be his last trip at sea
On his return, we will marry.
Weeks pass before news arrives
The Marie Celeste has been found with no one aboard
My love is lost at sea, no wedding veil is needed
No vows to make
Just tears to wash sea salt from my face
That feeling of having lost my mind…

© Anita Dawes 2021