It's Still Life

The Coast

That sound from the lighthouse,
a primitive one-string cello,
bent low and playing to the fog.
The waves, whose chorus
dissolves back into the sea.

I was raised by the sea, lived and
breathed by its sound and scent.

Rocked to sleep in a metal dingy
with a big black Mercury engine.
That engine, diesel fumed
and bluing the air — the sea
always swayed me to sleep.

I miss the scent of that water.
It was salt, sulphur and iodine.
It soaked into my skin and hair.
A persistent smell, as authentic
as pine resin.

Mum thought it smelled medicinal,
like the savoury scent of time.
It made her seasick, she said.

Those scents are somewhere in me
between memory and mirage.
Somewhere back in my childhood.
Somewhere back on the coast.

Words: 165. Reading time: -1 minute. Written for Ingrid’s farewell on dVerse Poets, “a poem of place and space”. AI Digital Artwork is created using Midjourney. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023 Shared on Twitter #amwriting @midjourney @dversepoets