SOS Flags
They always came in whites
From a plume of pale smoke
a flock of pillowed clouds arose
to engulf you in a speed blur
one that made you wonder
if the million cries adrift at sea
soundlessly surged in bottles
could silence the lullaby of crashing waves
and if they ever reached ashore
on the beach that filled your childhood dream
with the sound of conch shells — serene
and swelling deep within
with breath and blood and liquor
An all-encompassing drown of their heat
Red in the whites of your palms
Whites that fill the space between happy noises
Whites that circle the cautionary glare of a skull
Whites that blanch a wound on one side
so it looks green inside — alive
and calm as the cold flesh of stars
a bodiless beacon of surrender
behind a mist of teary eyes
where colours seem to fade
They always came in whites.
Author’s Note: This poem is based on a friend that I lost years ago to depression. I have this memory of her from 2001 on a Ferris wheel booth, together with my brother. We were all screaming and spilling into each other with laughter. Today, when I remember that day, I picture myself coming out of that ride alone.
