This is hauntingly beautiful. It made me feel as though the sea wasn't calling her somewhere new, but back to something she had always known. That final line especially stayed with me. Perhaps the deepest journey isn't becoming someone else, but remembering the name that existed before the world told us who we were.
That’s a wonderful reading, Vlad. We often seach for more external jouneys and reasons, long before we slow down and look inside. Sometimes we do that have memory, a somatic memory, before the mind or world gives us names.
Thank you. I love that idea of a somatic memory that precedes conceptual understanding. It reminds us that not all knowing begins in thought. Sometimes the body recognizes a truth long before the mind can articulate it. Perhaps that's why certain experiences feel less like learning something new and more like remembering something we've always known at a deeper level. 🫶
I resonate with this so much, as if it were written from my thoughts. If I could I’d choose the sea as my final resting place. Beneath the waters with nothing to fear, just peace and beauty with the tide. No need to remember my name, in the sea I’d have a new one.
Mark, thank you for sharing this beautiful poem with us. 🫶 There is something deeply moving in the idea that while we spend our lives searching for ourselves, some places seem to remember who we are long before we do. I especially loved the ending: "she had almost remembered her name." Not found. Not discovered. Remembered. Beautifully written. Thank you for bringing this into the world. 🫶🥹
Thank you, dear @per LEY, for recognising the deeper layer here. I love the idea that the environment carries our memories and even traces of thoughts and conversations, long after the visible echoes have faded.
A lovely reading, and thank you for your wonderful comment 😍
The movement from “she learnt to see the sea” to “the sea kept arriving” is what drew me into this. At first, she seems to be discovering the sea; by the end, the relationship has reversed, and it is the sea that appears to be searching for her.
I especially liked the shift from “they learnt her name” to “she had almost remembered her name.” That small change opens the poem considerably. Leaving becomes more than physical departure—it feels as though somewhere along the way she has become separated from a part of herself, while the sea remains the one thing that remembers who she was.
The sparse structure works beautifully with that idea. Each isolated word arrives almost like a wave, then disappears, leaving us to carry its meaning into the next. Nothing is over-explained, and the ambiguity is precisely what makes the final lines linger.
I’m happily subscribing because I enjoy poetry that trusts imagery, rhythm, and silence to carry meanings larger than the words themselves. I also write atmospheric fiction and reflective pieces about memory, place, identity, and the things that continue to call us back at The Reflective State. If curiosity ever leads you there, I’d be delighted to have you read some of my work and share your thoughts.
Very glad to have discovered your poetry. I suspect I’ll be thinking about that sea still arriving for some time.
Thanks, Siddhartha, for such a lovely and close reading of the piece.
You’re right that the slight change at the end - which wasn’t in the draft at first - introduces a shift from memory to loss of identity, so I’m really pleased that it came through for you.
I love you felt the flow of the words as well, as I wanted the piece to feel like water, tides and the sea, and not just speak about it through imagery.
Thanks once more for your reflection, and I will definitely be coming over to read some of your works as well this weekend!
This is hauntingly beautiful. It made me feel as though the sea wasn't calling her somewhere new, but back to something she had always known. That final line especially stayed with me. Perhaps the deepest journey isn't becoming someone else, but remembering the name that existed before the world told us who we were.
That’s a wonderful reading, Vlad. We often seach for more external jouneys and reasons, long before we slow down and look inside. Sometimes we do that have memory, a somatic memory, before the mind or world gives us names.
Thank you 🫶
Thank you. I love that idea of a somatic memory that precedes conceptual understanding. It reminds us that not all knowing begins in thought. Sometimes the body recognizes a truth long before the mind can articulate it. Perhaps that's why certain experiences feel less like learning something new and more like remembering something we've always known at a deeper level. 🫶
That was wonderful. You said so much by saying so little!
Thank you Dave! Less is more - sometimes!
Another powerful, complex creel of emotions communicated with surgical sparseness. Skills.
And a wonderfully curvaceous and creatively crafted comment, Moll 🫢🤭😄
Thank you ❤️🔥
😉😘
I resonate with this so much, as if it were written from my thoughts. If I could I’d choose the sea as my final resting place. Beneath the waters with nothing to fear, just peace and beauty with the tide. No need to remember my name, in the sea I’d have a new one.
Thank you, Dorie, for such a deep response and reflection. I'm glad the piece found a place in you to rest ❤️
Mark, thank you for sharing this beautiful poem with us. 🫶 There is something deeply moving in the idea that while we spend our lives searching for ourselves, some places seem to remember who we are long before we do. I especially loved the ending: "she had almost remembered her name." Not found. Not discovered. Remembered. Beautifully written. Thank you for bringing this into the world. 🫶🥹
Thank you, dear @per LEY, for recognising the deeper layer here. I love the idea that the environment carries our memories and even traces of thoughts and conversations, long after the visible echoes have faded.
A lovely reading, and thank you for your wonderful comment 😍
🫶🫶🫶
Hauntingly beautiful. What we leave when we leave. <3
Yes! Thank you, Petra <3
The sea never forgets.
very true!
The movement from “she learnt to see the sea” to “the sea kept arriving” is what drew me into this. At first, she seems to be discovering the sea; by the end, the relationship has reversed, and it is the sea that appears to be searching for her.
I especially liked the shift from “they learnt her name” to “she had almost remembered her name.” That small change opens the poem considerably. Leaving becomes more than physical departure—it feels as though somewhere along the way she has become separated from a part of herself, while the sea remains the one thing that remembers who she was.
The sparse structure works beautifully with that idea. Each isolated word arrives almost like a wave, then disappears, leaving us to carry its meaning into the next. Nothing is over-explained, and the ambiguity is precisely what makes the final lines linger.
I’m happily subscribing because I enjoy poetry that trusts imagery, rhythm, and silence to carry meanings larger than the words themselves. I also write atmospheric fiction and reflective pieces about memory, place, identity, and the things that continue to call us back at The Reflective State. If curiosity ever leads you there, I’d be delighted to have you read some of my work and share your thoughts.
Very glad to have discovered your poetry. I suspect I’ll be thinking about that sea still arriving for some time.
Thanks, Siddhartha, for such a lovely and close reading of the piece.
You’re right that the slight change at the end - which wasn’t in the draft at first - introduces a shift from memory to loss of identity, so I’m really pleased that it came through for you.
I love you felt the flow of the words as well, as I wanted the piece to feel like water, tides and the sea, and not just speak about it through imagery.
Thanks once more for your reflection, and I will definitely be coming over to read some of your works as well this weekend!
Beautiful 💜
Thank you Ami!
💜
So gentle and elegant
Thank you, dear @Aaliya ♥️
Nice!
Thanks!
Very nice
Thankd Cedric!
❤️
♥️
The sea remembered. Her spirit haunts it.
It does! 🖤
haunting.....
thanks 🩵