Jetty

I stand on the jetty
assume it is sturdy
protected from the tides.

The rhythm belies me
the ebb and flow of years
despite feeling frozen inside.

This temporary footpath
I wander on
longing for fertile soil.

From a distance I covet
a trail well travelled
the ordinary turmoil.

Wistful what ifs
such imaginings
desperate bids to be.

Windows like mirrors
frame warm incandescence
reflecting another me.

I stand on the jetty
eroded by hauntings
hoping to be transformed.

And reckoning with
another hard swallow
to avoid being swept by the storm.

I lived on the Jetty for almost 20 years. Next week marks my first full year of therapy. Thanks to a combination of my visits and medication I have officially relocated to solid ground. At times, I visit the Jetty, but with awareness and support I am better prepared for the waves as I recover and allow myself to grieve out loud.