Be Gentler Still, Unquiet Sea

Be gentler still, unquiet sea; again she
sees her city days. She only ever saves
what memories are not too heavy to carry.

The pigeons want to know is she happy
or does she ache? How many of her days
is she still in the unquiet sea?
​
Just buy the ticket overseas already;
forsake those days on planes and the ache
of some lady saying, “that carry-on looks heavy;

​I miss carrying my things so gently.”
No matter how angry the waters, the vague
sea looks quiet from the sky. And she

watches those faraway lives with such envy.
It’s all vague; she remembers wanting to partake
in life without miscarrying and a heavy body to bury,

but she took it up on her shoulders to carry
every ocean. She sighs and it rains.
Be gentler still, unquiet sea. She
misses carrying herself softly.

Previously published in The Afterpast Review.
Poetry and photography by Hazel J. Hall.