Woolf Greets the Sea

Eva Lynch-Comer

Trigger Warning: Suicide

The train rattles
like a penny clanging in a hollow can.

The patter of rain thrums on my ear
which cools on the train window.

When we stop I kick off my shoes,
put seashells in my hair as I amble along the shore.

I unbutton my coat and let it fall on wet sand,
crisp air catching in my breath.

I wade into the water
as I sink, frigid waves roughly comb my hair.

The sea is a hand cupping my heart as it beats
I’ll take the next few pumps, she says.

I roll around like ice crushed in a blender
in my pockets rocks clang together.

A few of the rocks escape
and the sea tries to push me toward the surface.

I consider swimming up
giving my lungs the air they are craving.

But I have swum out so far that returning to the shore
would be as tedious as swimming farther.

So I kick my legs and swim deeper as I exhale my last breath
my body mingling with the jetsam on the ocean floor.