It's been years since I wote poetry, unless you count snarky haiku (a special form I particularly enjoy). Today for some reason two undersea poems came to me. Here's one of them.
Under a clear sky, cloudy water.
The scarred stone moon, blind, diminishing,
Scatters her light like ashes on the milky sea.
Sunk beneath the waves, the fallen
Statue of Diana rests. Her eyes -- stone-lashed, brine-stung --
Stare tearlessly skyward, past elusive jellyfish
And eels like moonbeams trapped in tanks.
A kind hand would seal those eyes.
A kind heart would smash them.
No algae clothe her breasts and sex.
Naked, unyielding, her will is armor
Stronger than the chisels that chipped this form from stone.
Once violated, she chose to be invulnerable. The swordfish
Have more tenderness than she,
The jellyfish more mercy. She is her father’s daughter.
The huntress, amused by mortal pain,
Played Herod to Niobe’s brood.
Now she watches
Austere, unblinking, as otters mate, as fish devour their own
Scattered offspring, as sharks rise to snap
Their unsuspecting prey. Even Olympian calm
Cannot survive immersion. Baptized into the world of desperation,
She sees but cannot mend the damage she has done.
Even the tepid-blooded oysters feel too much.
She prays for lava to melt her memory,
For resurrection as unthinking stone.
—Lynn Alden Kendall
copyright 2005 Lynn Alden Kendall