lyrics | fictions | episodes ©Edwin Best, 2013-2020
I found an old jar in her kitchen
that for long had remained unused
it was like one I remembered from childhood
that I used to cling on to
the trees in my mother’s garden were many and beautiful
though she lived in a small apartment
by the sea
of the silent guest at her table
she would talk to her family
yes the trees in my mother’s garden were beautiful
but the jar
I threw into the sea
of the silent guest at her table
the sea has no memory
strands interwoven at twilight
amber at eve in a braid
we used to tell stories at bedtime
impossible stories we made
such a strange dance we were dancing
a dance we were taught by the sea
to whom do you wave on the shoreline
to whom do you wave if not me
when conversation became difficult
I made for the shelter of the trees
looking back across the sun-bleached field
to where the party was in full swing
appreciating the amplitude of tall silences
that I could navigate more easily
from there I could see you slowly circling
coming to rest
before finally heading out
navigation
ascertaining a position
calculating the most favourable route
between one point and another
even when there is no point at all
navigation
just moving around
it takes skill
practice
finesse
when even gentle waters
can seem treacherous
safer amid trees
they don’t move around
at least don’t appear to
I whispered a quiet thank you
and plotted a course back
four glass coasters
bought at Lyme Regis
when the children were young
and life was easy
life was never easy
photographing them now in sunlight
they seem fabulous beyond compare
blue from another ocean
I never knew existed
where sea urchins devour whales
amid bubbles of aquamarine
and half-formed monsters
guard a pirate treasure hardly seen
at the time
joy passes too quickly for us to grasp
life is a bauble
a theft
don’t expect miracles
when the miracle has already passed
lost in a sea
preserved in glass
on the way back to the mainland
I met a man who said he could see angels
I dismissed this as fairytale
but he was adamant
now as dark waters of night gather in
I remember him
and realise I am still crossing
the waters around the little bay
are wild and inhospitable
always I sail away again
beaten by the currents
yet always I return to my beloved shore
my rock
my continent
my dark island
[first posted 20 March 2015]
on the second night we sang songs of abandonment
and on the third night
and the fourth
and on every night
until the welcome guest said to us
why do you sing these songs to me
for these are the songs sung by the sea
and sung by the wind that shakes the trees
sing again that song you sang before
for that is the most terrible
and beautiful of all
but none of us could recall
any song that came before
