Sea Strung Sailor


I long for freedom, she said.
To stretch sea foam arms and bite sea salt lips.
Motherly waves, won’t you carry me home?

Poor, landlocked sailor, she only desires to
leave the city lights in the direction her hair blows.

Let me disavow my anchors, and set forth on
wooden pleats of cherry and oak.
I will stumble with the rising tide and cure
my wanderlust eyes that yearn to dance with the
Northern lights and the pirouette of Polaris.

She pockets Rose Quartz and trusts the Universe
to nourish her blistered soul.
With sapphire eyes, she leaves footprints in mounds
of dirt, following the light of seraphim out to
where the shore tickles her blushing toes.

With city candles that flicker on hillsides, I set my
eyes to the ink of the sea and my head to the
wolfish moon that is howling independence.
I leave the time of mud and mountains, and sway with
hollow air and distant sirens. My arms rise in
Braille bumps, but then, then Mother Moon wails:

My saccharine sailor, strength is bred from the heart,
not the flesh.

– Samantha Prasad

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