sea fantasy

Two days before my due date, I am full to the brim with child.

And I dream endless sea dreams, dreams of making my way alone in the dark to the sea, of walking through the surf, so that the waves washing over my feet and the waves crashing through my body are one, and my feet beating the sand of the beach drum out the rhythm of my opening, crushing the broken shells as I rise to meet the wave-pain; and the seagulls asleep and the surf song lifting my cries, carrying them out to sea. I dream of the seal-women's whispers, reaching into the conkshell ear of my child. I dream of seaweed for scent, of seaweed for hair, of seaweed for trail. I dream of salt on my hands for strength, salt on my lips for sustenance. I dream of kneeling at last to bear my child in the worried wrinkle on the forehead of a dune, I dream of thick dune grass and soft white sand for our bedding. I dream of the sea.