Ceiling Window

Storm damage,
barriers broken,
dirty, yellow sickness,
weathering construction;

sky lights,
greening branches,
reach to pull through window
perspective victim.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Glass Portals

If I have to have walls,
give me windows
big and bright
where shadows can dance for hours
with the light,
windows that open
wide
to invite the breezes
inside.
In all mental-health seasons,
I so easily slip away
for days,
lose myself
in those sunny sills
and rainy panes,
faraway thoughts
that need not be
sorted nor restrained;
even my muses need
a holiday.
The spaces inside
my dwelling fade
in comparison
to the glass
and screens I need
for my soul
to not suffocate.
If I have to have walls,
give me windows
through which to endlessly
escape.

Undetected

I escape undetected

slip past the sea-oat rimmed fence,

cross the bridge

to the great blue expanse,

Version 2

leave behind the land

until toes get lifted

from underwater sand,

and I am in the

unstable hand,

at the whim

of my moody

but trusted friend

to take me

fathoms deep

into the abyss

of an empty head,

afloat in the saltwater solution

that expels the world

with each exhaled breath.

I only focus occasionally

on the shore

to reality check

my location

while away indefinitely

on my solitude vacation,

in no hurry to return

to the daily obligations.

I shift back my attention

to Sea’s lovely manipulations,

back and forth

with occasional playful splashes.

Cradle me awhile longer,

at least until the next pelican passes…

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Fleeing Land

They even closed the beach during the supposed pandemic.

And with all that has been going on in the world weighing so heavily upon my sensitive heart, those initial barefoot steps upon the boardwalk bridge began immediately changing me inside once again, and I needed it, once again.

The bridge between the world and the sea. I exhaled a deep breath as the peace so sincerely greeted me and welcomed me back, my back to the parking lot and town, the sweeping vastness of the water horizon coming into full view, the sound of the crashing waves becoming stronger. In that moment, before my toes even fully hit the deep, silky, white sand, I already have sent all of that weight in me ahead, to take off with the sea birds, wings spread wide and filling with the salty wind. My vision becomes blurred as the sea-mist gathers on my glasses. My mind forgets all that was swirling around in it just a moment ago. It is magical, this bridge to the sea, the bridge between the weight of the world and a mind afloat upon the water. It is both a selfish and selfless escape. To drown out all of the fighting voices on land, to become deaf to all but the sounds of the waves. I haven’t even reached the sand…

The sand is a soothing temperature with the sun having already set. The rare white blends into the soft, muted colors of twilight and the sea itself, the division smudged and discreet; I am glad for that, for division is what I am fleeing for a while. I am not in the mood for even loud colors.

With the tropical storm having just passed, the ebb and flow is dramatic, leaving much of the sand a firm, wet, smooth, freshly-wiped slate. A clean slate. No footsteps. No sign of human existences in that sand just before the sea, as if it is required to leave everything behind in order to receive the sea. I gladly do so. Despite the double-red flag, I walk directly into the perfect-temperature water (but not beyond knee-deep to be safe).

The tide is oddly gentle for an ebb of such receding. The waves are less powerful in force than they are powerfully moving; they seem simply extra willing to take from me whatever I need to offer, for me, in a benevolent service, not for the sea in some kind of dues to be paid. The sea seems to be acting as a first-responder, eager to do its part, to treat and heal every heart that comes with that need. It seems to know of the chaos on land, and I can’t help but see the irony. To be lost at land and seek the stability of the sea.

The sea brings stability and balance back to me.