Burning Word

Lacuna

la·cu·na
An empty space or a missing part (with a nod to Eliot).

Here am I seaside,
an old woman in a dry month, estranged
from all I hoped to be,
praying for rain and redemption.

Once waves skittered up to dance
draped in seafoam petticoats
now, slink and prowl, emit guttural growls
and spit invectives through jagged teeth.

Sifting sand
I toss handfuls on the bitter breeze
then sneeze as it flies back
to sting me with curses.

Tempests stall offshore
and I, a lost gull engaged in futile flapping
struggle to break through spiral storm-bands
and fling myself against the eye-wall–

deceptive place of consolation,
false lull within my rage.

© Freada Dillon 2004