The Sea

The sea is memory.

It keeps bringing things back
I thought were gone.

Some days it is calm,
a wide sheet of silver
stretching to the horizon.

On days like that
it almost feels gentle.

I remember laughter.
A voice calling my name.
The ease of believing
nothing important could vanish.

But the sea changes quickly.

A darker current pulls below the surface.
You feel it before you see it.

The body tenses.
Breath shortens.
You realize how easily
you could be taken under.

Farther out, ships pass.

They move steadily toward open water,
their sails full,
their course clear.

Watching them
I feel the old wish again:

to step onto one of those decks
and leave the undertow behind.

But when I turn away from the water
the sound follows me.

The tide keeps speaking.

Each wave carries something back
a face,
a moment,
a name I haven’t said in years.

The sea does not forget.

It keeps what we drop into it.

So I walk the edge
not quite leaving,
not quite returning,

knowing the ocean
that unsettles me

is also the place
where everything I loved
still moves

somewhere beneath the surface.