Out to the Horizon
Janet Kuypers
6/10/21
Driftwood disintegrated, out with the tide
like flotsam, wreckage from what we survived...
jetsam drifts to shore
while we all still so fall in love with the sea
and our essence drifts out toward the horizon
until I find myself lost,
wondering where on earth that damn land is
I know, I know, we are seventy-percent water
I can feel like a fish,
a dolphin, or even a bird like an arctic penguin,
porpoising our way through the deepest depths —
for water is our essence.
Too many times that ocean called out to me
and I dove in, head first, swimming out too far
until violent waves came
crashing into me, capsizing me deep into the sea
forcing down my throat an ocean of traumas
past, present, future
until I suddenly wonder if it matters if it rains
treading water; a cyclone, hurricane, typhoon
swells inside me, until
water overwhelms me. I start randomly swimming,
look for land, pick a direction, try to find that edge.
They say that land is vast,
but this water seems endless. So, I start to panic.
This is when I realize the edge is right there —
is it dirt, is it sand...
when I finally get there, I see the wrinkles
in your cupped hands, holding that water
holding that world
and now it all suddenly comes flooding back,
you saved me again, like I saved you before
our souls intertwined
we’ve lived for eons, nourishing each other
from climbing the Alps, to following Darwin,
Arbeit Macht Frei
wrought iron gates rattle in our hands,
we shiver together in midnight South Pole winds,
make music
before the one a.m. Arctic Aurora Borealis.
So what if armed Russian guards watched us.
Don’t cry for me—
throughout the hemispheres, throughout history
we step over those gold bars to emperor rooms...
for as I said
we’ve lived for eons, nourishing each other
and now its your turn to hold that water, let me
swim to your hands
until I climb out, jump onto your earth, stand.
You can then turn your hands, spill that water
and finally embrace me.
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