A Nautical Sort of Anonymous
The one bathed in the ivory-grey of midwinter
Where the cold whispers in a lisp of sleet
And the water persuades itself to crystalize,
A barrier of ice
Contouring the comings and goings of seafoam
The burn of brine and the cut of the air
Have taken my title.
Winter holds it now,
Clenched viciously between salted canines.
Though perhaps someday it will return to me,
All sea-polished and smooth,
The more jagged consonants worn away
Leaving only the misted rolls of Rs
Cresting on the tongue
For now though,
My name is waterlogged.
The letters are frozen over
And the meaning's lost at sea.
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Claire Oleson was raised under the loving and intriguing watch of two married psychotherapists. As a child she aspired to partake in several very sensible and stable career options including a marine biologist, artistic ditch digger, carrot-sorter, freelance zoologist, and tree whisperer. Despite all of these clearly feasible options, she is currently settled on writing, not for its stability but for its beauty, complexity, simplicity, and utter obnoxiousness. "A Nautical Sort of Anonymous" was inspired by the feeling evoked in losing your identity, or at least part of it, to some natural and quiet place.