Mourning Tide

a poem for the passing of my grandmother

Photo by Katherine McCormack on Unsplash

Dear Mourning Tide,

Welcome.
What have I to fear
as you come 
with rising swells 
'round my ship?

These drawing currents 
cannot drag me out to sea
for I've lowered anchor 
beneath the swirling starry skies,
beneath the driving easterlies,
beneath the evening 
and mourning tides
beneath the seafloor
and earth's crust. 

There lies our biding hope
concealed in a shell, 
thin and brittle,
waiting to break 
these earth-bound troubles,
to hurl out of oceans
new mountain heights 
that no eye has seen 
nor ear has heard.

In these lands
no seas swell 
with earth-wrought toils,
no uncertainties fluctuate
across meridian poles,
no passions toss us 
in pressured hemispheres.

In those newly risen lands 
I will meet her again
and know her
even in her shell-shed form
far more beautiful 
than even the home 
she made.

For all the rich books,
the graceful looks,
the delectable food,
and cottage-garden blooms,
the love-knit stitches,
the pots of tea,
and framed tranquillity 
were only a buoy
to mark the spot.

Her life to us said,
"Seek! Find beauty!
And when you find it,
send down your anchor,
for you will have found 
Bedrock Himself,
the Lord God,
Creator of the beauteous
evenings and mornings
of all our days."