Morgan

16

A Message in a Bottle 

8.15.14

I heard his name in a seashell today.

The Atlantic hums the blues like he told me it does
and the ocean's breath  tastes like his. I don't know why 
it's whisper sounded sad, like the echo of a gun,
but its song hollowed me, scooped my chest and fed it to the gulls.
 
I don't know if he misses me 
but I miss him
most days, days when Chipper barks at the ceiling, 
days when the house quiets 

and my breath hangs over me, 

days like these when wind roses my cheeks 
and I wish he was here to see 
the salt strung sky- it is lovely,
lovely as he is.

Now the waves are humming 
at my feet
and the sunsetting feels like melting ice-

I wonder if he feels it, too.