Salty Memories Lori Graham
In a previous life, where the me I am now was hidden in a closet and an obligatory marriage, we took the boat out often. His hobbies were my hobbies (or so I thought). While he frolicked under the waves in the Puget Sound, I watched seals and seagulls, alone in his small boat, dreaming of a different life. He would emerge from the water, seaweed hanging, limp, from his beard, proudly showing off his bounty of fish, scallops, and other creatures (unconcerned that I had struggled to start the boat motor to avoid the rocks). He and his friends would climb into the boat, dripping icy water, with exaggerated stories of colossal lingcod and squirming eels. Years later, out of the closet, an entirely different me calmly sits on my lovely English shore at Aldeburgh with my lovely English wife. We watch the waves sneak up on the pebbles and have our sausage stolen by a seagull while we laugh and flick small round stones, as the ocean mists our lips with tiny, salty kisses.
Debut issue of 'The Adriatic', a new online poetry magazine. Issue One's theme is 'Ocean'.