By Annie Firth
The wet road in moonlight
reflects the sea,
beckons me on.
My mind meanders, but follows.
The story runs both backwards and forwards,
in black and white.
I do not pause.
No cats eyes for guidance.
An owl travels with me,
Lends me its eyes so I can see.
Clasping the swollen jar to my belly,
I walk as a pregnant lady would.
I kneel and half bury the jar in the sand.
I take off the memories.
The locket, last, is interred in the jar.
I wade into the moon.
Dive under the waves,
emerge bleary eyed and gasping
Then crest the tops,
I listen to the ocean's heartbeat.
I forgive the past for its transgressions.
I swim into now.
The sea gifted an iridescent shell,
soaked in the moon's wisdom.
I add it to the jar.