Pseudopsychosis.

the shadows

            cover the sands,

each finger

            in my hand

threads liana

            coast blue

the bodies of ephemeral

god’s eye;

my father holds my hand

            by the rope of the bridge; it, in a sense,

is remote to me as a child;

in memory, it architects

a mist in mind,

orange light

flowers,

            liana

white liana and fingers

threading my own

centered against the yellowed sun

and the light blue of the last sea

I saw;

white lines

            fallen by the shoreline

echoed like a near dream

with father on the bridge

            half rocks, ebon,

quietly that lay

and hatch onto

a summer sea.

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I wrote this specifically for the dverse ninth year anniversary.

The prompt is this: “I want you to capture a moment in your verse. Clearly describe to us what is in that moment. Paint a picture for us with your words that will evoke our own emotions and experiences. If you need to, find a picture and write about it. Maybe you have a favorite photograph you want to share. If not, write us the picture, so we can see it, taste it, smell it.”

The memory I wrote about was with my father as a child, overlooking the beach and ocean on an old bridge. It is a memory that resurfaces quite a lot, something I hold dear to me as I recollect it each time. I do hope you enjoyed the read. Thank you so much.

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