The Deep

by Sydney Solis

The grief
sinks
     down
like the submarine
                  loaded with all those young men
down
         to the deep,
to
the
    watery        silence
that runs
black,
bumping its hull against emptiness
until it hits
                                    bottom
its weight
on my heart
                            the dead pressure
only released by the slender glimpse of the abyss itself through poetry
through grace
and the only sound
                           a bubble coming up out of the depths
up toward daylight
through the heart it rises,
emerging as a tear,
                            spilling from my eye and watering the fields at dawn.

We speak memories
and sing those sad songs for all the sailors, husbands, mothers and sisters
buried in the deep
locked in the tomb
hunched in the corner,
waiting in line for us to hear their voices through our dreams at night

We go there
to that place where mermaids guard
we go to the sea grape tree to grieve
to give our tears
surrender our sorrows to its roots and in prostration we lie
to drain our bodies of poison, and then roll onto our backs,
offering our passion to the afternoon clouds
passing another day
before our eyes