Summer Island Through the Lens of Grief

Photo by Author -- Fishing at Sunset 

Mama’s screaming

in a borrowed bedroom.

Crying behind closed doors,

where no one sees.

She wants Summer Island

to alleviate her heartache —

She offers her pain

to the choppy, broken sea.

Saltwater soaked siblings,

white bums on a beach.

A vacuous space between them

only Mama’s eye can see.

Jagged, rocky

coastline —

A sister screaming

“Mama, please!”

Younger brother —

deep blue eyes,

blonde hair sprinkled

with sand fleas.

Grandfather —

plucking an orange lobster

black speckled shell,

from a muddied, rusty trap.

Band it!

He commands the granddaughter

who pinches the carapace

as claws attack.

The ocean like glass —

Sunsets behind the harbor,

cast pinks, oranges, reds —

true watercolors.

Blueberry patch

behind Aunty’s house —

purple stained fingertips,

remnants of the devoured.

Scaly palms from

freshly caught mackerel

shimmer like the salt water

glistens in the sun.

Rose Hill Cemetery —

Next to relatives headstones

where sister asked,

“Is this where my sister could be?”

Mama replied,

“She’s here. In the trees,

the sky, the waters.

She’s in the air we breathe.”

Summer Island is where

Mama believes

if she opens her eyes wide enough

her lost child, too, might see.

Mama says she sees

through the lens

of the grief

she carries.

That there’s

a shiny side

to heartbreak

and grief.

Says, it’s the reason

she deeply feels

the beauty

she sees.

Says, “Treat it as a gift

because not everyone

sees the world

through the lens of grief.”