Waves

Seagulls circle. Circle, circle. The dawn has not descended its mighty robes. Has not cast her darkening, embracing, all-encompassing glance upon the ship.

He stood and watched it. He stood, against himself, against the sea. He stood and watched the greatest extension of himself.

This is it, he thought. He was immobile, unmoving, transported, fixed, understanding and trembling. Trembling. Trembling trembling (flash flash)

His left hand, shaking, descends upon his opened pocket. The flask. Half-empty. Whisky.

The ship is mighty and strong.

Grandfather is leaving angry. He has been rejected, thrown out, cast out, and misunderstood.

Of course, much is his fault. Much of it was his doing, his cruelty, his unwillingness to bend, bend lightly with the gentle wind that sculpts. The gentle wind that delivers us perfected to the world.

No, he wouldn't weather the storm, wouldn't mind the gap, wouldn't wait the hours, the moments of scant definition, of glinty sunlight left unattended. 

He left like a vagabond - extinguished.

I smoke one silently and watch the snowflakes pile on. 

"Well well, if it isn't the prettiest lady"

I watch his tall figure, his beautiful frame. Approaching. I can't wait to take it all in. To smell his neck, his being.

Ryan is a beautiful man. He is a gladiator. He stands tall, his blue eyes piercing in the most unflattering way. I always imagine a robust husky tearing through bone when I look at his eyes.

Empty empty blue. Beautiful beautiful empty. 

Ryan is a mountain. Ryan is a sight. His presence is overwhelming. It makes me shiver, it makes me want him, it makes me run, it makes me stay.

"Ryan, how much have you grown in my absence?"

"You were never away you know"

"Ryan.."

"Joce"

Charcoaled, written over in ink. 

Grandfather is wearing his grey overcoat, nothing in his pocket, nothing but his flask and a very old, cracked pocket watch. 

I wrestle with Ryan, I kiss his face in the snow, I kiss his eyes, his heart. Through his shirt. Through his coat. I kiss his heart. His heart (flash flash). I think of a new passage, I will steal bits of it. Pieces of it will be borrowed.

Some will be blue, some will be given to me.

I think of a wedding. I imagine marrying Ryan. Happy happy.

Grandfather is not alone embarking on this journey. In front of his ship.

Her long, red hair flows. The girl who sells him sunflower seeds in the sunny afternoons. With ashy fingertips, with magic pouring out of her eyes. Her small frame, her long bones, empty pockets and patchy stockings. 

They've not exchanged much. Money, seeds, seeds, money. She's quiet but alive. She's a spark, a flame, alive. 

 Their good-bye waits like a moth. Like a moth to a flame. Stirs, impatient, a heartbeat, a murmur, a tremor, a piece of movement. A scuttle on the bottom of the ocean floor. 

I imagine Ryan is not Ryan. I imagine Ryan is the last man I loved I had to say goodbye to. I use Ryan's body to hold someone else. I imagine the hands that hold my face aren't Ryan's. Yet I urge Ryan to hold my face, I urge Ryan to press into my back, into my core. And embrace continues, empty and fulfilling at once. I use Ryan's body to mourn dissolved unions, ruptured thread. 

I use Ryan's body.

"Well I reckoned you packed well?"

"I'd hate to say it love, but I'm wearing it all"