‘Full fathom five thy father lies; of his bones are coral made; those are pearls that were his eyes’ - The Tempest, Act 1, Scene 2
I went to the seabed, Father,
to recover you, bring you home.
I had a small chest inscribed,
lined with velvet, placed
in my study awaiting your remains.
The coral bones I saw in my dreams –
they were pink structures,
miniature blooming trees –
bonsai cherries from a Japanese
willow plate – as mysterious
as you were in life to me.
I knew you would not breathe,
still, I could marvel
at your exquisite inanimate blush,
undeniably there
in the box on my desk –
that would be enough.
As for the pearls,
that’s a different story –
I couldn’t have your eyes
always looking at me. I planned
to have them fashioned
into fine jewellery.
They were to be sold – yes –
I would send your eyes out
into the world, so you
could see anew things
of which I was never told –
the way a girl’s blushes spread
slow heat across her chest.
All these plans I had
to resurrect you.
But when I went to the seabed, Father,
I couldn’t find you.
Nothing organic remained.
There was coin aplenty – but no coral
and no pearls – no oyster.
The reef all destroyed.
Oh there was coin alright,
of every denomination –
pounds sterling, Euros, dollars, yen
and some I had never heard of.
There were all the spoils
of a shipwreck – silver tableware,
signet rings, watches.
I could not find you there
but I admit, I did fill my pockets –
let’s call it my inheritance.
I went to the seabed, Father,
to recover you, bring you home.
I had a small chest inscribed,
lined with velvet, placed
in my study awaiting your remains.
The coral bones I saw in my dreams –
they were pink structures,
miniature blooming trees –
bonsai cherries from a Japanese
willow plate – as mysterious
as you were in life to me.
I knew you would not breathe,
still, I could marvel
at your exquisite inanimate blush,
undeniably there
in the box on my desk –
that would be enough.
As for the pearls,
that’s a different story –
I couldn’t have your eyes
always looking at me. I planned
to have them fashioned
into fine jewellery.
They were to be sold – yes –
I would send your eyes out
into the world, so you
could see anew things
of which I was never told –
the way a girl’s blushes spread
slow heat across her chest.
All these plans I had
to resurrect you.
But when I went to the seabed, Father,
I couldn’t find you.
Nothing organic remained.
There was coin aplenty – but no coral
and no pearls – no oyster.
The reef all destroyed.
Oh there was coin alright,
of every denomination –
pounds sterling, Euros, dollars, yen
and some I had never heard of.
There were all the spoils
of a shipwreck – silver tableware,
signet rings, watches.
I could not find you there
but I admit, I did fill my pockets –
let’s call it my inheritance.
Georgia Hilton is an Irish poet and fiction writer living in Winchester, England. She has a pamphlet, I went up the lane quite cheerful, and a collection, Swing, both published by Dempsey and Windle. Twitter: @GGeorgiahilton.