Before I swallowed the moon

I was reared to marry the lighthouse keeper.

After choosing land and limb even though my hair is seaweed and my curves are made of waves, I romnatiscied being a maiden, not realising it was transitional, unlike my siren's call. 

Next came motherhood 

and the years shift as they do 

Now I am a lighthouse without a keeper

Where do we find ourselves when we are alone

yet never alone 

I stay upright most days, save when I bend or creak. Losing millimeters,

Still and tall, even in motion

They are older now, the charges that marked that transition, the need more and less, ebbing even as I listen for them to breathe in and out. 

Still I lmake sure to leave a light on and 

Fold the clothes, holding fast against the eroding coastline of life. 

Obligation changes it's meaning

And I find myself with a light that would want to dim and fewer ships to steer clear of the clifface 

Day can be as dark as those stormy nights I dreamt of, with cliff faces as welcoming as an extended family reunion table, even when the seats empty. 

There are more transitions that appear like foam in the waves that will pull me back to rock and water, a return to myself, when I will not worry about sums and columns that caluclate a cost. That is a world I chose but never understood fully, I can almost accept. A heart breaks in as many ways a door can close. 

 I only truly know the tide and depth of oceans of which men only dream, beyond gravity and time.