I came to the place
you were last known to be

On the anniversary of the date
you were last seen

I bring offerings
of long stemmed
dried flowers
accented with
baby breath and
a clay fired cross
tinkling and jouncing
in a clear concave
glass vase

Gathered from the
floral arrangements
of memorial services
for dearly beloved
kindred and friends

My oblation,
aged, simmered,
distilled with the
resonance of tears
and cured by
ruminative airs, now
fully curated with
the balm of time

On this solitary
Monmouth beach
the March Lion
roars snow squalls
intermittently blowing
away the cold sunshine
from the Saturday sand

Sounding a
somber reminder
of the rise and fall
of life's tempests

We hope for beach days of
Sun kissed faces and
warm limbered bones
reposed in blessed rest
upon blankets and chairs

Yet today the sun can’t
temper the numbed
fingered wind chill,
placidity escapes
into the sonic rush
of skirling gusts
lifting, splashing,
cracking crescendos
of building waves

Inert gulls flock
near a black jetty
their feathers
a taught plumage
trimmed to deflect
natures howling whirl
their silent shrieks
swallowed by
the days bluster

Crossing the beach
I cradled the vase
in the crux of my arms

My shoes taking
on sand, the cross
clanking a toll
against the thin glass
as the dry blooms
whisper winded secrets

As I approached
the ebb of the sea
a furious gust of wind
splintered some of the flowers
into a flurry of  swirling petals
while lifting two long stemmed
yellow roses that land
intact near the ocean's edge

Like frenetic sparrows
the liberated petals
flew into the ocean
settling into a
contented pool
anointing the water
by softly grazing on
supple undulations

Lifting a yellow rose
from the vase...
I touched the thorn
but it had lost its sting

Setting the rose aloft on
the wings of an
insistent onshore wind
it took flight toward the sea

Landing on a placid pool
gently rising and falling
on the relaxed roll of the water

It mounted each gentle curl
moving with an easy buoyancy
over each rippling crest

Navigating the friendly sea
with the skill of a
seasoned mariner
plying forward
eager to meet
the next tender roll

It is thought by some
that my daughter
walked into the sea
on a lonely
March night
at this very spot

Yet the two
long stem roses
that leapt from the vase
still gently lay
at the water line
as if placed on a table
by lovers during
an intimate dinner

Despite a stiff
onshore wind
the waves do not
swallow the flowers
but ease them back
toward the vase
planted on the shore

I gathered stones
and shells to fill the
emptying vase,
as I grabbed a handful
at the wash line
my foot was subsumed
by a wave

I was startled
by the bite of the
frigid water,
shaking my
reverie
arousing an
affirmation of
disbelief that
Meggie surrendered
her soul to the sea

On this cold
windswept shore
a Nor’easter
creeps its way
up our fragile coast
begging an uncertain
malevolence

I stand in your
footsteps

Uncertain
of what I should do

Unable to pray
the words bespoken
In my heart

I am here, frozen,
frail, frigid, flummoxed

My aching fingers
beg me to go
I release a final
white carnation

It springs to the sea
I pick up my vase half
full of shells and stones

I commend the two
long stemmed
yellow roses
marking the
advancing
waterline

I resolve to return
some sun kissed day
with blanket and chair
in the company of
friends, brothers,
sons and daughter

Music: Fleet Foxes, Grown Ocean

Meaghan Elizabeth McCallum
was last seen on video at
Pier Village Long Branch NJ
on March 11, 2015
#FINDMEG

Long Branch
3/11/17
jbm