Radiated Decor

by Brytnee Miller

Down at the port the bows of ships left idle
sweep with the waves
masts brushed left and masts brushed right
white caps cascading algae, green as mold,
into decaying carcasses of piers forgotten
praying for my father's soul
an old shipwrecked sailor
left with remains of fish guts caught off the Atlantic coast

And here the Pacific, in all its radiated decor
Seagull drowning sorrow on a downed sparrow
Plastic bottle paradise pooling in between jetties
where families once sat together; on top the moss
under the bridge is flooded now
like memories I wanted to keep hidden under
sand and seaglass, Budlight cans never had a chance
against rotating currents cradled by moon rays

In my mind's eye I see a building
rather old and broken down; bricks and rotted wood
a little girl in a tie-dye dress stands in front
fishing pole in hand; laughing and smiling
The charter boats sound their departure alarms
Captree Princess; heir to the throne of hermit crab kingdom
and secret beaches.
She dodges under the dock, swinging from pillar to pillar
low tide graces a short drop into clear water.

And gone, a tidepool turned sorrow
tears onto a new bay; murky and saturated gray
oil spills masquerading as rainbows;
an inner child prays for those innocent observations
Poseidon cannot be fooled. His trident surging storm
winds, raging waters -- my sister the ocean slaps
my face.

"Anger is not your strength," spelt out in white cap drops.
Bury the past. Bury the past. Your father, your mother,
your sister, your brother -- preserved in each molecule;
a saving grace. Mitakuye Oyasin, one with each grain
of rock broken through years of battering; together they stand,
they remember, they embrace.

Little girl with curly black pigtails, tie-dye dress
sits on shells and builds a castle of sand
Saying prayers in ancient tongues to those she
loves. Wind at her back, twenty years past
Castles melt into the sea... Different girl, same mystery.