Day 30
Prompt: we challenge you to write a poem in which the
speaker is identified with, or compared to, a character from myth or legend, as
in Claire Scott’s poem, Scheherazade
at the Doctor’s Office.
Kelpie
It follows the curves of the Scottish heartland,
cuts into it, a deep V of stone granules,
coasted by ribbons of grass, leaves and moss,
dotted with silk buttercups and bluebells.
The redheaded girl treks the dip and the hill,
where the narrow road bends at a rusted gate
stood sentinel between two fences frilled by ivy.
Three stallions stand idle, evenly spaced.
One black, one dappled brown, one grey.
The third throws back his mane, and stamps,
holds her expression for a momentary while,
glances away. The weather turns, rain spills.
The girl carries down in the other direction,
where the downs rise up again, and twist,
and lean, down into the rested pool of sea,
a gathering place for surfers, but empty now,
the tumult none too enticing. A chill wind
cuts. By the rocks a solitary man looks out,
a fringed blanket draped around his shoulders,
hair sodden, hung in tendrils flowing.
The girl tugs her hood further over her head,
hands dug deep into her pockets for warmth.
The air chills, sky cracks, and she makes to go,
but the movement shocks him to turn.
He looks straight into her eyes, earnest and raw,
something familiar about him, as though she
has met him before, in a shadow moment.
In that second, he smiles, and it lights his face.
The intention to go forgotten, she stays put,
almost sculpture. He steps forward, pauses
a bare few feet away, pushes back the wet locks
of his hair, and despite herself, she smiles.
There seems nothing else to do in that moment.
It’s just him and the water. On the horizon a dot,
a something moves, but above the nimbus are calming,
the sea smoothing. And the lightning stops.
The stranger removes the blanket, folds it in his arms.
He wears a simple grey shirt, faded-out trousers,
and a pair of clumpy shoes. His eyes are jet orbs,
a stark dark contrast to his salt & pepper hair.
She wonders if to go, but his expression holds her.
He glances at the sea, sunlight blinking to glisten.
It flickers over the waves like a dance, so hypnotic.
She senses rather than sees the man move sideways.
In a moment he is gazing down into her eyes,
runs his fingers through her mermaid hair.
For some reason, she does not feel the need to move.
He points out, where a lone boat mars the still.
She waits for him to speak, but he steps away,
moves in even tread towards the edge of water.
In that moment she sees that his shoes are not,
but black hooves, deepening imprints in the sand.
The girl watches him saunter towards the soft surf,
where he stops and turns just once, his body shifting
into the powerful shape of the grey stallion, his mane
falling full of stars, eyes glistening with life.
Her feet carry her over the sand, crimson hair billowing
in the sacred breeze whipping up from the salted mist,
stretching her hands for the leather bridle with which she
will ride him out into the depths of the windswept sea.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, April 30, 2024
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