Ocean

The island ended where the ocean began. But the ocean never ended.
It was the sound inside my body, that low hum. Everything in the
house was damp, the air salty, stinging. My parents sat on the couch
under its hazy veil. I lay on my belly watching T.V. Then I grabbed
my feet, made a boat of my body, rocked myself to sleep.

Origins

We weren't from the island. No one thought we'd stay but me. I
saw myself in the tall brown weeds which clung to the bottom edge
of the house. Golden at sunset, pale in the morning, thirsty at
noon. It was easy to find solace down low, bound as I was to earth.

Copyright © 2005 Wendy Wisner All rights reserved
from Pebble Lake Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission