Ebb Tide

You look at me like I am an empty jar.  You ask me if I remember so and so or such and such and to be frank, I don’t know what or who you’re talking about.  And so, I look at you, my dear ‘kiddo’, now getting older yourself, and I wonder if you remember that sparkling day when we were walking on the tidal flats, jubilant after chilly rains, drowning in the warmth of the sun and the sound of the waves, each of us thinking this must be what Heaven is like. All the way around Sandy Point, we shuffled in the singing sand, past the fisherman, bent over his rod, struggling to thread a worm onto a barbed hook.  He never lifted his head and we tiptoed barefoot, through shimmery tidal pools encircling ancient, marbled rocks. Now you look at me and ask about my day but I am not able to find the words to tell you that I am thinking of other times – the smell of wood fires, bicycle rides on sleepy Greek roads, the rumble of the deepest stop of the church organ, the brilliant orange leaves driven by chilly rain, the bells ringing in foreign steeples, the eerie call of a loon through the evening mist, my students hushed to silence as I enter the classroom or singing Silent Night at midnight Mass. You look at me as though I am already dead. I nod and smile.

Kate Sullivan likes to play around with words, music and pictures. She has written and illustrated children’s books, sung chansons at NYC Mme Tussaud’s Wax Museum and her fugue-ish ‘Fugitum est’ was performed at Carnegie Hall by The Kremlin Chamber Orchestra as part of their tribute to Mozart. She also likes to paint ostriches and plays the musical saw to impress people. Her poetry has appeared in Rush Literary Magazine, North of Boston, and Writers.com www.sullyarts.com