The Drowning Ones

THE DROWNING ONES

In these drowsy blue-green lands of sticky nights
somnolent breezes that sigh over warm, sleeping skin
and a sun reluctant to rise from its cool marine bed
there live those chosen to be the Drowning Ones

For the first time, at the age of one the child walks the beach
a shy, delightful meeting though the sea is always eager
then attendants retrieve the giggling child trying to capture gulls
for a perfect drowning takes time …

By five the Drowning One wades in to the knees and calls the sun
Always, an acolyte attends at each side, strong and tall
one day of listening to the shells, the secrets that they murmur
and one night is spent on the beach, sung to by the tides

With outspread arms the morning greetings gild the air with sound
and at twelve the water laps lovingly between the thighs
the Drowning Ones weave seaweed and glossy shells into hair
start to hear and understand the deeper messages of water

By sixteen, water has caressed each one’s breast
fish swim obstacles around their legs and only now are they
allowed to lift feet away from the shifting aquatic sand
let water cup them in its embrace as silver fins stroke their sides

It takes a while, a languid consideration, watching sand shift
and whisper as tides retire, to achieve the perfect drowning
always, the opposite sex prepares cloudy drinks on still-breath days
the Drowning One chants, paces past the steamy passion of the jungle

Turquoise waters slyly push wet fingers through the sand
whetting appetites and teasing the toes of the Drowning Ones
they offer morning rites, incantations blending with the waves
recite songs to hold the water near as sun’s gaze heats their sight

There are nights that hold eternity, a gentle sigh, a lonely bird’s cry
each Drowning One makes love or is loved
in the rhythmic movement of the waves crashing in, pulling out
waiting breathless for that final crescendo that drowns them whole

Under undulating palm fronds and shade skittish with heat
hummingbirds observe attendants grinding coconuts and sand to paste
or mixing the dyes of certain berries with the oils of aromatic flowers
and four times the conch lows its lonely call as night swims across the land

In the eighteenth year, when the moon is pregnant with lambent light
the Drowning One is scrubbed to glowing with coconut and sand
washed clean with cool spring water, burnished with scented oils
then sleeps naked and alone upon the torpid beach watched by stars

As the stretching sun first licks at the night sky, attendants arise
wake the Drowning One and prepare a feast of fruit and fish
pour a drink fermented through lazy searing days to fire the mind
a fever growing, flaring as the sun acclaims its right to fill the sky

As the Drowning One swallows the molten drink and spews visions
chanting acolytes slowly shave all hair from limbs and head
pluck eyebrows and between the legs until the Drowning One
shimmers with coconut oil, bronzed and glowing as the sun

When the sun swims into sunset, dives beneath the waves
the Drowning One chews plump red berries bit by bit
is lead to water’s edge, shells and seaweed a necklace,
the only adornment and walks singing into the eager sea

Reluctantly at first, begrudgingly the water pushes at the legs
grows eager at the thighs and reaches to stroke at chest and arms
pulls hungrily to kiss the head so long denied, it is hard to tell
from the shore, which is more eager, Drowning One or ocean

No acolyte knows for sure but Drowning Ones are taught to lift their legs
spread out to the ocean, let it enter them entirely, being one
when the bloody orb of an aging sun sinks to its watery bed
the Drowning One is consumed as fins slice the ocean’s dark mirror