Man Under the Sea
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On the back of an Aqua bus, the very back seat. Going to Granville Island the seats are white and plastic and I can see my salvation, so close through this clouded glass. And then, then I start singing. Softly at first,
I was hiding underneath the sea.
The woman to my left looks at me out of the corner of her eye, purses her lips, then turns away. I grasp the plastic, start singing louder. My back is turned to the rest of the little boat. I know they're all looking, pretending not to look. One little boy asks his mother what kinds of animals there are in the water. She goes on to list some common things, salmon, otters, seals, salmon, otters, seals, fish, fish, fish.
Just me the fish and the sea
Louder. I press my face up against the glass, feel a large, deep silver gray, large fish press up against the bottom of the boat. I fight the urge to fly off the boat. To fly through the water and into my home. Something inside me, pulling, my hands turn to water. But they have always been water, haven't they? Why didn't I notice that before? Why didn't I notice my smooth skin, gliding, velvet gliding. The thirst it quenched, I let my hand glide through the water. The green glass, velvet glass. And finally, I smile, cry, I can't see anything. I don't have anything. Louder.
Under the sea, the music was loud.
My eyes are closed and I can't see. I can't see your eyes, their colour does not exist here. I can't hear your voice, its pitch is not audible. Not to me, not to anyone, not here. Everything but you, and you, and you is here. Nothing is here except me, the fish and the sea. There is a bottom, somewhere. It has sand, barely disturbed, slightly coarse, somewhere. None of us need the bottom, none of us see the bottom. We do not eat, though you do. Silver hooks streamed with laughter and victory pierce, sometimes packed with the gentle whisper "By the same power that slays you, I too am slain; and and I too shall be consumed." What ever lifts you, lifts me and I step off the boat, longing for that gap between the boat and the dock. I blink once, sliver of green, shards of glass and my eyes are brought back to yours.
I was so happy there, under, under the sea.
Pieces from Man Under the Sea by Patrick Watson and The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran.
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Some man came to talk to us about poetry form, use of punctuation, I don't remember it too clearly and he didn't offer any feedback on our work. It was basically taking work from different writers and trying to fit it together. In this piece, its parts of a song and a quote from a book. I can see how it doesn't make its self very clear, perhaps it would make more sense if I added the rest of the story. It was just kind of long to type out.