Rhodes

You stood above the drop
with the wind coming off the sea,
hot even that early.

Olive trees below,
dust in the air,
stones loose underfoot.

You had the bottle in your hand.
Turned it once,
as if reading it again
would change something.

Seventeen years in that weight.
Hard to believe
it came to this.

No one there to see it.
No voice, no sign.

Just you,
and the sense
that it had gone as far as it could.

You tipped them out.

White against the rock,
a scatter,
then nothing.

You watched longer than you meant to.
As if something might return.

It didn’t.

The wind kept moving.
The trees held where they were.

You stood there
with your hands empty.

Not healed.
Not changed all at once.

But without that.

You turned back
the way you had come,
down the same path,
only carrying less.

You didn’t know then
what would follow.

Only that you had done it.

And that it would stay done.