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  • Writer's pictureTony Frobisher

Sea Grief

Sea Grief

We called the seabirds.

Swooping and squawking -

The wave bobbers in

Constant chatter, exchanging

Stories in braggadocio caws,

Carried on playful winds.

And the seabirds mocked our tears.

We called the waves.

Beach bound, unfolding.

Each one cascading their

Story, demanding to be heard

Before being absorbed by

The grateful sands.

And the waves battered our souls.

We called the ocean.

Voluminous and resonant.

Seemingly empty, yet

Teeming with life and

Swimming with stories.

Channelled by endless currents.

And the ocean swallowed our happiness.

We called the sharks.

Our grey-fears that remained

Hidden, unfathomable,

Threatening to surface and

Devour us in frenzied grief.

But the sharks meant no harm.

They had stories of their own.


Sea Grief. In memory of my daughter Milla, who so loved the sea. Inspired by the beautiful book, The Shark Caller, by Zillah Bethell.

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