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andrea peters

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Member Since: Mar, 2004

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After...
by andrea peters

Saturday, April 03, 2004
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
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Recent poems by andrea peters
•  A taste of death
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           >> View all 10

Lost at Sea.

ASSOCIATED PRESS: October 28, 2003: Five men missing in Gulf of California. The 5 men left port early Saturday morning and did not return as expected that evening. The 24’ Catamaran was found capsized floating adrift 15 miles from shore. Despite an intensive search no survivors were found. Missing: David Monroe, 54, Marvin Monroe 48, Gary Monroe, 14……



After


Phantoms swim underneath the currents
Which stroke my body with velvet blankets
Wrapping themselves round and round
Swirling
Dizzying in their spins,
Harsh in their machinations.
A single shiver dances across my back
Vibrating
Like a pipe which has been rung with another
piece of steel.
And awakens me.

I can see clouds through the darkness.
The stars as punch holes, littered white
on a dark cloth
Reflected, fallen
onto a black liquid surface
Where I hover between the ghosts below which I cannot see.
(That terrifies me.)
And the darkness above which beckons as if
calling all names that have ever ridden these waters.
But I wait in solitude.

Where is my brother? My son?
They were rushed away in a moment.
Violent by a nature
more virulent than I ever imagined.
Their cry’s rise above my own and resound within my mind. Still.
Though long past. Long gone.

I pray.
I know He hears me. But I know my prayers for intervention will not be answered.
I understand. But it angers me.
Not toward Him. The boiling occurs in my bones for the things I leave undone.
The words which lay stillborn upon my parched lips.
The hearts I leave. I left. Yesterday.
Or was it the day before?

I’m hungry. My throat is parched. I cannot see the sun clearly, nor the dance of the waves as they gently lap against my neck.
Licking. Tasting. The meal of which will soon be partaken.
Fear is no longer a rising. It is a friend. It means I am still alive.
But I cannot feel my extremities.
I am but a fragment. A broken beach toy.
Bobbing on the water with this…

This orange life sustaining thing which pulls incessantly against my face.
Trying to free itself. Save itself.
It has no vestment in me. I am but an obstruction to its freedom.

I can hear sounds. Shouts. Engines roaring above, below, in front of and behind me.
Sounds that only the mind can make. Promises which only it can offer in desperation.
I know this but still they make me smile.
Which cracks my lips again.
I can taste the saltiness. It is even more than the Sea.

Oh God. Let them remember me for good.
Take care of my family.
May my friends forgive me and my enemies not rejoice in my passing.
I hope you find in me my Truest of hearts. And remember me.

After.




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