They say you drowned. But I glimpse your face through spindrift. Hear whispers waiting in every shell. I dream you dance under moonlit waves, hair streaming weed. Our daughter’s asking questions. I hold her close, knowing she’ll follow you. She cries like a seabird tonight, her eyes reflecting the ocean.
Deborah writes at an old desk surrounded by five hundred pet bugs.
Wow! Powerful piece. Love the imagery and pathos.
Really nice. I like the ending
The title belies what’s to come without giving anything away. You really tied the story together by your ocean-related word choices. The strong undercurrent of emotion running throughout the work pulls the reader in, just like a strong tide. Great writing!