Issue 2:
Myth
Laura Snyder
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Answer
I.
By a window open to sea's breath,
a letter on my rosewood desk, written
in a strange hand, some other language
-- old -- and signed below, Murrman.
Days, I hear the echo, that word,
that name, like a sand washed shush,
undulates like blades of kelp
move me to depths unseen.
II.
The restlessness in spring leaves
drew me to the sea-slashed cliffs
and down the path to listen.
I heard only waves and crying birds.
There among cobbles, strings of ulva and torn
eelgrass lay an egg-shaped gem, a swirl
of azure, emerald, sapphire, and grey.
Heavily, it swung from a hand-forged chain.
I stopped it, then dropped it. It was warm.
That night, I woke to deep-voiced singing.
This was the third of many strange things.
III.
Today I am ship-bound, sick, confined
to a narrow bunk and the endless rolling
of a ship bound at anchor. After tears,
I slept. And now, laid out before me,
odd-smooth stones, a tiny rose sea star,
colored twists of shell, and sand-scuffed glass.
I know it was you, leaver of letters and sea-cast jewels,
voice of night, for upon this gift driftwood rides -
the shape of a man emerging from waves.
~Laura Snyder
Laura reads her poetry throughout the Puget Sound area. Email for her current reading schedule.
© 1999 by Laura Snyder. All Rights Reserved.
© 2000-2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated April 23, 2002.