There are things

Things we can’t unsay

Boats tethered at the bay

Presences made

That can’t be unmade

And the sisters of our lovers

And the mothers of our others

All sway sadly in the wake of our unkindness

I should have run that time perhaps

I should have hurt a little less

But then sisters, friends, how would I find a new duress?

A soft experience some claim worth the dark and coldness?

The dark and cold that wins to stay

Battering, battering in the bay

My lips have stolen pleasure undue

Pleasure awakened, pleasure brand new

But stolen, awoken

Beat until a lie or two

And many soft touches

Lie glistening before the settling dew

Could some foundation gather all around

Some sandy strength filling all the chinks,

Covering the sound

When I am old will I gather love in deep blue memories?

And furrow peace’s sail in hope of future shores?

Or will the tide wrap soft and sensual fingers round my ankles

And drag me to the bay, to the bottom of the bay

Among the sea dust where old lovers proudly lay

The mothers and the sisters will sigh and say,

“What unkindness beds of mermaids made.

What unkind proud minds give us things to say

Things to say we can never unsay.”

Dark things that settle in the bottom of the bay