At The Seaside Bench
by Sandy Clarisse
The steel-framed, wooden seaside bench-
seemingly ordinary-
yet here it sits-night and day-
a silent hearer of longings,
left unquenched.
Inner turmoils
seeking sanctuary,
in the sea water’s embrace-
in the scent of salty air,
While the seaside bench awaits…with grace.
Strand by strand,
narratives slowly unravel,
in the still presence
of that seaside bench.
Rage and brokenness,
joy and love,
a kiss, a tear, a hug,
the warmth of affection-
a shove, a slap,
the sting of betrayal.
All of it-
lovingly held,
by the bench
and the endless sea.
That warm night,
on this modest bench,
as we sit under the stars,
something in me ruptures quietly.
I feel the breaking-
not between two hearts,
but… inside my own.
The deep-sea mirrors
the buoyant current of my inner being-
even as above,
the surface of the ocean extends,
Calmly... peacefully.
A gathering force
at the shore of my being-
energy I once scattered-
returns- as illusions shatter.
Receding
so a new wave can rise.
Yielding
so something new is born.
The sturdy bench -
an anchor for what’s broken.
A graceful witness…
Grounding, supporting-
never mending, never judging-
just gently allowing the natural flow of what is.
In the calm of the seaside bench, parts of me find peace.
Held wholeheartedly by the sea,
I pause in this moment.