Water in Jars by Emma Wells
They chatter as friends
clinking along in shared unison
collected from superstitious,
antique seas
by a worn, silvered hand
dipping for liquidised souls.
Each jar: unique.
Her matted, jaded hair unfurls;
sea-winds unravel ageing curls
releasing grey epiphanies:
a choral symphony cries
from freed tendrils
symbiotically merging
with breaking crescent waves.
Age leaches from pores,
sea breeze cleanses skin
removing layers of time;
a reaching hand to shore
transforms its physical self.
Majestically, blemishes
(stamps of time) fade
like scarlet roses
to tender pink,
a subtle blossom-kiss.
The shoreline beckons
hearing familiar, maritime calls
she shuffles on over-walked,
bruised feet
to a wakeful welcome;
her toes awash with crystalline shells;
seaweed polishes skin pristine—
rekindling life, vigour, youth.
She stands, invigorated,
reenergised, resplendent
in ephemeral glows of a setting sun
beginning to unladen her load
from a wondrous, wicker treasure trove,
filling each jar with mouthfuls of promise
dipping to shimmering sea edges.
Poseidon willingly relinquishes
his liquid gold, eyeing appraisingly
as she ebbs and swells
like circular, feathered waves,
where wingtips touch elysian edges…
The greying embers of her tussled hair,
morph to flecks of Midas’ gold,
dazzling in mirrored reflections.
The sun settles herself
in cosy confines
allowing herself to be held
by Horizon’s cupped, muscular hand.
Anchored for the night.
She continues filling jars
flowing fluidly
as salty portents
brimming to fortified fruition…
Swirling tides wave farewell
as their maiden martyr
replenishes her last watery ware.
Its prized Qing Dynasty porcelain
delicately placed
amidst brethren,
on a pyramidal platform:
ready to begin a new journey—
to rekindle with familial, mortal souls.
Her tread now turns,
as selfless salvation restarts;
her stretched toe dispels cloying sand,
as jars tinkle like awaiting door bells,
cradling expectant souls,
in watery-jarred worlds.
One bronze age spot forms
on her upturned face
as she’s steered to dry land
by navigational luminous stars.