Rev 20:13
Fletcher cove is what they now call it
Pillbox is what it is known
A small break in long cliff on the California coast
It was once a military outpost
Just down the road where there is open sand
But this is an ideal cove
Possibly a ships wreck at one time
Now adays it extends out towards the horizon
Even in the grey day and high tide
It still has surfers showing up
Walking down the narrow opening
Towards the small pillbox section of the beach
My mother never could get over
My being born nor my dying either
I awoke when I was still too little
A small toddler who could walk
But protect itself
I was wrapped in seaweed
Curled up with my blonde hair matted
I recall several different individuals
Coming into contact with me
But they all left me to find help
There was a time along the coast
That they still had the old WWII
California safety calls
Due to Pearl Harbor
When a danger was sensed
There was a warning to stay off
The beaches and trails
Durig the sixties and seventies
It was used over the increasing motorcycle.
Groups and other hippie type problems
But then repealed as unnecessarily
A little mermaid was found on the beach
Is all I remember them discussing
I don't know how I got there
And neither do they
In fact, my parents were told
It was not me at all
Just a ghost of the daughter
They had lost and was never to be seen again
My mother was once again pregnant
She could not understand
Where babies came from
All she knew is her parents
Were not together during the war
But I do remember several people speaking to me
And then leaving me without helping
Or at least it appeared that way
The times are difficult to know
If they went to a phone and did not return
Or if they thought they were speaking
To a mermaid or ghost instead of a small child
Too small to speak clearly for herself
I also always had an infinity for whales
I later got into internships on ships
For the ocean such as the Cousteau program
I believe I went into the water
We had friends who had boats
I grew up on boats and more comfortable
Then other types of travel
And then ran into a pod
Of something which included babies
Adopted perhaps for a moment
And kept afloat with their heads
Until a beach was found for me to be
Deposited upon to be discovered.
By my own kind
Except my mother would never accept me
She was so suspicious of me after that
Calling me all kinds of names
Assuming I had been sexually molested
Of no use to her anymore at all
Never would stop her cruelty
All from a childhood incident
Where she was not allowed to see
Her own parents while her new friends
Lied to her about all sorts of things
Those people are still alive
While both of my parents went to their deaths
Never sure of the thing that washed up on the sore
Was really theirs after all
No amount of blood work would convince her
Nor was he able to understand with all the other
Girls who came forward falsely claiming
Themselves the heiress not to a fortune
But a piece of property no longer
Able to provide an income
Someone thought it funny to make it
Into an overnight campgrounds
Those people ruined it on purpose
And wont give it back
While my lifes was never the same
The ocean had given up the small child
Whose back was broken
Crawling sidewise up the incline
Towards the sound of highway 101
Only to find itself sitting at the train station
I have spent decades being taken back
To this spot where I was born again
Nobody has ever figured out the mystery
But many lost their lives protecting.
Something he mother never wanted anyways.
After all she had another one
And did not need me
Then my sister died
She could not handle it
Broke down all together
I had to spend the rest of my life
As the wrong child
Just because no one can figure out
How I emerged from a small beach
With no signs of physical abuse
But a broken back
I am not Dawne
But Aurora
The other one ...
No comments:
Post a Comment