lyrics | fictions | episodes ©E. Best, 2013-2020
tell me about the sea
and what it means
and what the weather’s like in Brindisi
where my people come from
who I never met
I know more about the sea
and what it means
than I do of those who made me
and summoned me from sleep
tell me about the sky
and what that means
and what it means
to live without regret
I spend my days collecting stories
and not a true one yet
I wish I could remember now
what the deckchair man had said
in the evening
before the sun went down
I had been his only customer
all of that long day
on the quiet shore
where no one else had come
something about attachment
something about the senses
chains by which we’re bound
that much I know
something about forgiveness
something about acceptance
something about surrender
letting go
something about love
all-redeeming love
and there being no turning back
once we are called
he spoke so very softly
it might have been the sea
when I looked
there was no one there at all
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
