seems like the other day
my baby went away
he went away ‘cross the sea
my baby went away
he went away ‘cross the sea
Saphira does not hear his approach over the sound of her own wailing, her pleas. She does not hear the strangled sound he makes, her one ear to the land, one to the sky and the surf.
“It won’t take me back, either.”
His voice does not make her skin crawl, not until she picks up her head and looks at him. There is something about the curve of his shoulder, his hip, even the bones beneath his face that feel as though she is remembering a recurring dream, once forgotten, and only recalled by dreaming it again. She does not stand right away, staring for a long moment before laying her head against the ground. Maybe he'll go away. She closes her eyes and sighs a shuddering sigh, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, sand ground into the shedding whorls of her coat. She picks her head up again, and then the rest of her, head held low like a prowling wolf or a beaten one, hunched, hungry, alone.
She realizes that she does not know what to say to him.
There is a desperate urge, in the lonely and miserable heart, to have a stranger come along and ask what is wrong. This would be, undoubtedly, a fateful encounter, leading to an eternal friendship and the release of all miseries to the sea.
She says, “Why would it, when it cares not for us?”
@Orestes
”who will grieve for this woman?“
does she not seem too insignificant for our concern?
