Wave Washed

I’m under your skin, your nails and tongue;
there’s so much left unsaid and undone.
No number,
no thunder
of waves could wash me away,
nor the terrifying teeth
of a tempest gnaw
every trace of bone.

I am the scattered salt
in every raindrop,
the fingers
that linger
and drip down your pane,
scratching
and tapping
again and again.

You let me drown,
you let me sink,
how could you ever think
I would let you live your life without me.
So, here I am,
a wave-washed wraith,
without a body,
without a face.

Kim M. Russell, 2017

Wave Washed

Image found on Pinterest

My response to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Fireblossom Friday: Bang, You’re Dead

Fireblossom says, ‘Bang, you’re dead. Maybe that crazy kid driver ran you down, or maybe the aneurysm you didn’t know was in your head exploded. It could have been any of a thousand things, but no matter how you slice it, you won’t be participating in that charity run this afternoon.

Still, this doesn’t have to be the end, despite what you might have heard. Don’t you feel like you still have something to say? Don’t be shy. After all, what can anyone do to you now? Presentation is strictly up to you. Automatic writing, poltergeist activity, dream messages from the great beyond. C’mon, get happy! You’re gonna slay ’em’.

21 thoughts on “Wave Washed”

    1. I had to re-read it as I haven’t looked at it since this morning when I wrote it and I can see what you mean about the macabre voice, Kerry. 😊

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  10. The dead are as intimate—and bereave of us—as our own souls. As the seven seas round the Earth’s body. Waters of womb and tomb, those “wave-washed wraiths.” Fantastic.

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