Its been a strangely beautiful day. I sat on the bayou dock for a long time, just letting the wind whisper to me about fall and the season of reaping. I wanted to hear something in the rasping of the sawgrass, to learn some secret held in the ripples on the dark water that Ive so often watched.

Fishcat Charlie came and sat with me. I tried to write a still life picture, just to allay the nagging of my own persistent muse. The yellow of the young chrysanthemums in the huge old clay pot I fetched from Mexico so many years ago; the lingering purple of dwarf snapdragons, and the pumpkin I bought early, in premature anticipation of Halloween; the peachy orange fur of Charlies tummy turned up to the last warmth of the afternoon sun, struggling through the elderly and ragged Chinese Tallow trees.

But an awkward melancholy kept creeping up to my shoulder. It would steal my thoughts and hide in the darkness under the dock, where the wise old turtles stick their snouts into the forbidden air of the upper world.

Finally, an old poem came again to me. I had written it many years ago, when a young friend of mine was going through a divorce. It was one of those friendly partings, with no children and little property to contest. She would assure me that she was fine, that they would stay friends, that everything was exactly as she wanted it. Yet, I saw. I saw the sadness in the back of her eyes, heard the tears hidden in her laughter.

I loved her, but could not touch her. Could not hold her hand; could not steady her as she stepped into a fragile neverland.

As I watched her redefine herself, I felt the chill air in the void she left. Perhaps that is why she comes again on this autumn afternoon.

I went to the beach back then, and thought Id write some of my usual drivel about the waves, warm sand, noisy gulls. But the poem that came that day was different than anything I had ever written, different than anything I understood. It has always been a little disturbing to me, and I have never shared it before now.

Perhaps it will have meaning for one of you.

--

WAITING -

She walked slowly into the surf-edge,

unaware that I watched.

She faced the sea and sank down to sit upon the sand

almost sadly

graceful.

-

Her children played nearby,

but she was

alone.

-

The tiny wavelets ran up the sand

among her thighs,

The larger ones foaming the flatness

of her

belly.

-

Her breasts lifted with each new wave,

and her head fell back like

a broken

doll.

-

Her legs had opened themselves to the waves.

I wondered how long since she had known

the rhythm of a

man.

-

There are monsters at the borders of old maps.

Sea serpents with the faces of men.

-

I eat women like the shark.

I, too, wait at the edges of the world.

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-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), October 01, 2000

Answers

And at the edges of the world they meet. She in total surrender and he for total possession.

Haunting Lon, haunting.

-- Debra (Thisis@it.com), October 01, 2000.

You are disturbed.

-- Edgar Allen Poe (get@help.soon), October 01, 2000.

Lon that's lovely. I'm really glad you shared it, thank you. =o)

-- cin (cin@=0.)), October 01, 2000.

You are not disturbed Lon, but obviously this lady's divorce disturbed you then. It speaks to me as a beautiful soul caring and longing for a woman whom he can't show is affection to, and torn by it.

-- (smarty@wannabe.one), October 02, 2000.

"I loved her, but could not touch her. Could not hold her hand; could not steady her as she stepped into a fragile neverland."

Why not, she was divorced wasn't she? Wimp.

-- devil on shoulder (shoulda@nailed.her), October 02, 2000.

But was Lon himself divorced then?

Bully.

-- (smarty@wannabe.one), October 02, 2000.

Lon, I am projecting here. It reminds me of being newly divorced and more than a little full of self-loathing. If I saw an attractive and lonely woman, I would feel a conflicting combination of guilt, lust and empathy.

-- Lars (lars@indy.net), October 02, 2000.

Let's see, I think that's one vote for "disturbed", and two for "not disturbed".

However, considering that Edgar Allen Poe should know disturbed when he see's it, I tend to agree with him.

I've been gone a few days, but I'm glad to see your responses. I'll think about them for a while.

-devil on the shoulder- Where were you when I needed ya???

:)

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-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), October 05, 2000.