Atlantic Songs
by Matthew Johnston
I have always known saltwater as healer
the way ocean washes over wound as remedy
Often I have gone to the shore of Atlantic
gently sinking my body into ocean’s embrace
letting the tides freely mingle with exposed tissue
while listening to waves fall into each other,
making music of their restlessness
There are times that I wonder about the sacred of Atlantic songs,
Imagining them the sound of ancestors that saw ocean as freedom,
as escape,
while tightly clutching prayers of rebirth
before plunging into ocean & filling lungs with Atlantic
Ocean carries ancestral screams—
stories entwined in throats,
a haunting choir of last breaths
the ocean floor an Atlantis of souls,
Left-behind bone becomes monument,
The water a viable coffin
Atlantic wears trauma on its back,
spine twists itself into shape of sacrifice
With belly already lined with past offerings—
Ocean becomes altar
I have always known that ocean brings healing
but some wounds linger
Maybe that’s why ocean often breaks its silence,
why the waves can be so unruly
why god always troubles this water
why the thought of home feels so tempestuous
I sink deeper into ocean, reveling in the gentle of this ritual
letting the salt mend me tender
as spirits cloak me in their songs,
Call this divine baptismal as their souls wash over me
I try making ocean of myself to house such hallowed chorus
I make epitaph of my bones in tribute
and submerge within my blood in search of home
in search of restoration
In search of familiar melody
rising from the mouth of Atlantic,
a symphony of sweet sound
swelling in ocean,
reminding me how sometimes
sacrifice is prelude
to healing
back to University & College Poetry Prizes