The Marian Lee
by Mary Alexandra Agner
Oh, the storm-sea's my lover, the undertow my heart,
and I've sailed through Night's Cape and the shoals of Dead Man's Isle,
seen the world from the water three times over, never thought
that the girl I once was would know more than Candleton.
Not a port, nor on trade route, but a beauty just the same,
with its forests of pillars, and the arches of its fame,
and the murals with their glowing, which gave it the name.
Oh, the storm-sea's my lover, the undertow my heart,
and I sail out the seasons, different crew and different chart,
and I watch as the lives of men pass and fall apart.
Since the sea touched my feet, I've not walked in Candleton,
but a captain once told me how the walls were golden-fine,
still another described what the war had left behind.
It's no matter---the landlocked, the past---I do not pine.
Oh, the storm-sea's my lover, the undertow my heart,
and I sail for the chop and the ruin I impart,
the fresh cold of the nights and the stars, their perfect lights
like the flash of your voice, which I left in Candleton
with your hands, warm and large, though cramped tight around a pen
as you drafted the arches, groves first, but soon by tens,
just ignoring the kisses and coins, even then.
Oh, the storm-sea's my lover, the undertow my heart,
and I sail to outrace the north wind, to plough apart
all the lines my wake makes in the shape of desperate art,
like the lines of my blood which I drew in Candleton.
You were busy. I stole your mad drive and narrow thoughts.
I went out, read the books, drew the circles, and I bought
the dark herbs. Some might say that it's all been for naught
for the storm-sea's my lover, the undertow my heart,
and I sail my men home through all gales and murky dark
and not one of them knows why I'm wood, or why I talk,
why my body lay cold at the gates of Candleton.
I had hope, at the end, that you'd come to see me leave.
My resolve was so strong I was certain you would grieve
that I'd gone, true to purpose, like you.
I was naive.
Now the storm-sea's my lover, the undertow my heart,
and I sail for the chop and the ruin I impart,
and the lives of men pass, and my memories depart.
Oh, the storm-sea's my lover, the undertow my heart.
Mary Alexandra Agner's poetry appears in North American Review, Passages North, and others. She's at work on a novel-in-verse, Queen of the Steppe, and a lyric poetry manuscript inspired by Shakespeare's plays. Her favorite fruit is the Jonagold, straight from the tree, served with a heaping of cold autumn morning.
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