KERRIN P. SHARPE
the sea takes a wife
a poem in two voices
he builds a bach at Boulder Bay
on rock and crusty sand
holds his winter wedding there
the speeches the banter
his baby’s to be induced
his wife’s worry as heavy as water
lighter when she swims
the baby rocks her uterine bed
through her mother’s skin
her thin thin voice
I’m not ready yet
the woman lifts her shoulders
her arms like oars
a long desperate prayer
for forgiveness
the woman and baby
will never be closer
the woman swimming
the baby turning like a waterwheel
the sea drowns the coastline
singles out the bach
admires the sloped roof
watches the bedroom window
the bach becomes anxious
doesn’t sleep doesn’t eat
grows smaller burrows deep
and wide tries to hide
the sea undercuts the foundations
wave cuts the weatherboards
takes the upper hand
there’s crayfish on the table
a fire in the grate
from macrocarpa
the man plants a surf break
the sea with lips and arms
warming the rising water
carries the surf break
like a bride