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Widow by the sea

Widow by the Sea The ocean’s black waves cascade like rolls of dark silk onto the land. Salt claws the air, fierce and biting, its texture brushing across my rosy cheeks as my eyes gaze outward— the sea, the sea. The sea is a horrible thing, a cold, unforgiving mistress. Women give their men to tread her harsh, alluring waters, and she returns only headstones— John Doe markers without names. The sea covets mariners and never lets them go. She holds them hostage in her quaking currents, then cradles their voyage in one massive, merciless embrace, sending them gently, brutally, to the sandy floor below. The sea is bitter, woven of morbid intentions, just like my grandfather, my father, my younger brother. Now my husband has been stolen by her too. But alas—I will not cry. My tears taste too much like her, and the salt my body weeps reminds me of her heartless waters, destiny or curse entwined. I am marked now. A widow. A widow by the sea.