A True Account of Talking to the Sea on Some Beach

A True Account of Talking to the Sea on Some Beach

An Imitation of Frank O’Hara’s “A True Account of Talking to the Sun at Fire Island”

By Brinn Wallin

The Sea woke me this morning cold

and fierce, saying “Hey! I’ve been

trying to wake you up for thirteen

minutes. Don’t act so wise, you are

only the sixth poet I’ve ever chosen

to speak to personally

so why

aren’t you more attentive? If I could

freeze you from the shore I would

to wake you up. I can’t wait on you

all day.”

“I’m so sorry, Sea, I couldn’t

sleep last night. I was ruminating with Plath.”

“When I woke up Whitman he was

a lot more eager” the Sea said

disappointedly. “Most people are up

already waiting for me to

put in an appearance for them.

I tried

to reconcile “Thanks for waking me.”

“That’s better” he said. “And thank you

for hearing me out.” “You may be questioning

why I’m glistening so bright?”

“Yes” I said knowing my skin was wet

and salty with the desire to glisten

back.

“I guess I should say

I like your poetry. I’ve seen a lot

in my time and you’re okay. There are

plenty of fish in the sea, but

you’re different. Now, I’ve heard some

say you’re mad, they being excessively

ignorant themselves, and other

loony poets think that you’re a whiny

imitator. Not me.

Just keep on

like the ships and I do, confidently. You’ll

find that people always will complain

about the ocean, either too warm

or too cold too clear or too murky, waves

too small or too tall.

If you drown

and wash up on shore one night they

pity you and love it. Just keep swimming.

And don’t worry about your legacy

poetic or natural. The Sea soars across

the Pacific, you know, the Atlantic

the Arctic the Mediterranean. Wherever you were

I felt it and saw you moving. I was

simply watching you live.

This poem was created and written by Brinn Wallin.
Please do not steal or copy without permission. 
*All Rights Reserved*

And now that you

are going with the flow, so to speak,

even if no one reads or sees you

you’ll be okay. Not

everyone knows how to swim, even in puddles.

“They want to float still.”

“Oh Sea, I’m so grateful for you!”

“I know, and I’m grateful for you too. It’s

easier for me to listen to you out

here. I don’t have to flood into

your brain between plastered walls to get to your heart.

I know you love your home, but,

you ought to wander away more often.

And

always embrace things, people earth

sky stars, as I do, freely and with

a gentle strong fluidity. That

is your inclination, known in the heavens

and you should follow it to hell, since,

if you kill yourself, you’ll end up there.

Maybe we’ll

touch again in Hawai’i, of which I too

am especially fond. Go back to shore now,

Brinn, even if you don’t want to, and I may leave a tiny poem

in that soul of ours as a lifeline.”

“Sea, don’t go!” I was awake

at last. “No, ebb and flow I must, they’re calling

me.”

“Who are they?”

Rising he said “Some

evening you’ll know. They’re calling to you

too.” Darkly he rose, and then I slept.

Brinn W.

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Song of a Songbird ~ A Sestina