“The Sea, The Sea” and “Fir Tree” by DeanJean

“The Sea, The Sea” and “Fir Tree” by DeanJean

The Sea, The Sea

I

As my fingers brush
against the water’s
surface, tiny spots
of glowing algae attach
themselves to them,

finding new homes
from hexagonal
fishermen’s nets of
seafoam –

These biological galaxies
that support their own mass,

on spangles of moonlight!

No better sustenance, like if
we were to subsist on air itself
for food.

I bend down for a closer look,

sand getting
in between spaces
where the skin

connects my toes together,
like a platypus’s foot;

and an odd, overpowering
sensation takes hold
of me, as I contemplate
this absurdity.

How odd,

even though
I’ve been walking on
these two feet
my whole life now!

Were we really
the descendants
of ocean-dwellers, from
a dark and distant past?

I raise my head to
the sky for answers,
where Ursa Major slumbers –

hulking form glittering
in the night sky,

brimstones
embedded
firmly into
thick, woollen clouds.

II

slippery,
inky eels
                                glide

along the darkness of the
ocean floor, morbidly blind,
but still managing to
reel in

tiny, transparent shrimp
that catch the moonshine,
atavistic specks of
wriggling stardust.

A dangling lure glows
on its misshapen head.

I watch, mesmerized

as the cavern stretches,
my face reflected in
thousands of
switchblade mirrors,

eyes wide,
mouth opened
in a silent scream
as each speck of

nothingness is
stippled roughly.

Firm and detached,
clotted and sticky
with black, as

the executioner’s mask
leers at me
in the last few spots of
dancing colours,

ignoring my desperate
hands away

as he prepares to swing his
mighty axe.

The jaws clamp shut.

III

I jolt awake with a start,
my bare feet now soaked
to the skin by the icy water.

The fishing lure glows
a soft green, marinated
with sand

as I pick it up
and brush the grains away.

Will Mum grumble at me
for falling asleep with the
constellations again?

Mizar winks at me,
a cheeky grin echoing from
some ten thousand light years
away…

It seems like my secret

will be safe
for tonight –

At least.


Fir Tree

Boughs puffy with sleep;

green, fluffy sheep of spindly leaves
weaving its fingers together,

picked clean
by the sighs of artless winds.


DeanJean lives in Singapore. Her constant dabbling in short stories as a child eventually led her to poetry earlier this year, where her tentative forays into narrative and free verse poetry can be found on her website, www.zeldareville.wordpress.com. One of her poetry pieces, ‘Intuition’, has been published on The Blue Nib.

When not writing, she can be found lurking in the library, being hopelessly lost in a park or fervently building imaginary sandcastles at the back of a public bus.

Category : Issue Three December 2016 Tags : ,

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