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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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A Cup Full of Humble Fragrance #470781 added November 23, 2006 at 6:38pm
Restrictions: None
Etched in the Sand
Speechless, Amy plunked down toward the sand as if someone had punched her in the chest, knocking the wind out of her. Waves of panic, like the waves on the ocean, engulfed her. Where had this come from, this “I love you” etched in the sand?
Now she had to contend with this, just when she thought that she had pried Geoffrey out of her heart. She had met him on a sandy beach while vacationing in Australia. A few months later, they had traveled to the same spot for their honeymoon and Geoffrey had written those same words, 'I love you,' on the sand.
Something burst into action above her. She glanced up to find a lone seagull circling above her. Seagulls normally flew in flocks. Was this one hurt? The seagull came down in a diagonal descent, landing as near her as its curiosity permitted. 'We are two lone birds eyeing each other,' Amy thought.
Except, birds didn’t age as fast as women. Amy still turned a few heads; she was aware of it. Her looks, however, had been her downfall. After Geoffrey died, many men came after her according to what they saw in her as beauty. She felt tears as sharp as razor pressing against her eyelids. It wasn’t fair. Not one of them had seen the real Amy. Men began loving a woman for what she wasn’t and ended up hating her for what she was. Did Geoffrey too? How could she know for sure after a marriage cut short by Geoffrey’s sudden departure?
She was here in this “Dr. Brown’s Retreat by the Ocean” because her friend Jamie had insisted. Mystical experiences was Dr. Brown’s project. According to Jamie, Dr. Brown was a knockout psychic who worked with energy, whatever that meant.
Dusk was setting in when she heard the bell. She wondered what tonight’s session would be about.
When Amy stepped in the conference room, Dr. Brown had already started talking about psychic levels of progression. He was saying:
“There is no area of ‘The Other Side’ that is off limits. If the ones who loved you want to stop by and say hello, they’ll leave signs. You’ll just have to recognize them. A single thought will take you from this level to the next one. If your thoughts are strong, they’ll have enough force to make themselves heard on the other side.”
Amy listened to Dr. Brown’s speech hypnotized. In the last couple of decades after Geoffrey died, she had abandoned to deal with herself. Instead, she had taken many lovers, none with significance. Wasn't this what people did when they were detached from their inner life?
She remembered the writing on the sand. Since this was private property, she had seen no young lovers on it. Still, the writing could be just a coincidence. Maybe the world itself was a coincidental grand mistake. If it weren't, could lovers ever be separated?
No, this whole idea was absurd. If it weren’t for Jamie, Amy would never be here in the first place. Frowning, she pressed her fingers into her temples.
“Don’t you feel well?” Jamie asked as they were exiting. “Nothing important, just a slight headache,” Amy said.
“Let me see that.” Amy hadn’t noticed Dr. Brown behind them. Dr. Brown touched Amy’s forehead lightly as if wiping something. Then, he shook it off his hand.
“Does your head still hurt?” Amy was too stunned to answer. Her headache was totally gone. “Thank you,” she stammered. Dr. Brown smiled, nodded, and went on to his quarters.
Before getting in bed, Amy looked out of the window. In the dark night, the wind chased the sand off the ground as the ocean bellowed. The writing had to be erased by now.
Amy woke up in the middle of the night with a peculiar feeling. Had someone been watching her? She flicked the light on. No one was in the room. She pulled the covers about her. Just as she was nodding off, she heard Geoffrey’s voice, “I love you, for you.” She smiled and let herself into a deep sleep.
Next day she went walking by the beach again. Yes, the writing was gone from that spot. A few feet ahead, however, she saw the same writing this time with a circle around it. “Geoffrey?” she whispered. A gust of wind blew about her, loosening her scarf. she remembered how Geoffrey used to love her hair undone. She held on to the scarf but let her hair flow in the wind.
"...If the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, Dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then beauty is its own excuse for being."
How could she be hearing this? Sprawled on the beach, she and Geoffrey used to quote Emerson.
"Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask, I never knew:
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose
The self-same Power that brought me there brought you."
Amy still remembered some lines. So she quoted haphazardly out loud:
“As the bird trims her to the gale
I trim myself to the storm of time,
I man the rudder, reef the sail,
Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime:
‘Lowly faithful, banish fear,
Right onward drive unharmed:
The port, well worth the cruise, is near,
And every wave is charmed.”
The second day after that and the next, everyday until the time of their leaving, Amy found the same writing in the sand somewhere on the beach. She stood watching those words "I love you," as she listened to and quoted Emerson within her heart.
During the last session, Dr. Brown asked if anybody would care to share their experiences at the retreat. Jamie said she had talked to the wind and gotten an answer in her mind. Other people offered what they called their experiences. Amy stayed silent, but inside her she was hearing Geoffrey's voice again.
“I wiped away the weeds and foam,
I fetched my sea-born treasures home;”
Just before they left, Amy dashed to the beach one more time. The lone seagull flew overhead as she gasped by the “I love you” etched in the sand. She knelt down and wrote, “I love you, too.”
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