Poems in Green and Blue

By Sylvi Stein

The ocean has inspired generations of artists and writers. My work is collected in a digital anthology as a continuation of mankind’s love letter to the sea.

Refraction

I remember dreams like this: watery 
blue light, goggles capped against my eyes 

(Breaching the surface is the midnight gasp  of air you rake in 
to remind yourself you are alive) 

I took my first steps in the Whale Room of the Natural History Museum  
thrashing forward, away from my mother’s arms 

(Hearing the echoes of the people reverberate  against the underbelly of the whale)

On the first day of swimming lessons, I held my breath 
and opened my eyes underwater 

(Imagining the slice of sunlight playing over age-old flippers 
Electric blue jellyfish drifting weightless) 

When I broke the surface the world rushed back 
​ and learning to swim was less like learning to walk and more like learning to fly. 

Catch and Release

My friend caught a fish today 
gasping at first, writhing on the line 
calming at her touch 
(I held my breath 
to see if I could make it without air 
as long as the fish could without water) 
her hands worked a long time 
the air still and green 
the lake still and green 
the sun beating down on our shoulders, hunched and still 
I wrote about it later in a letter 
the cabin quiet and cold 
the pencil scratching softly 
I went fishing today. I want 
to fish with you 
it almost sounds like I miss you if you listen hard enough 
but there was no sound when the fish slipped 
off the hook 
it did not wriggle as it slid into the lake 
(I couldn’t).

Selkie

You drag me out, tug my soul,
tear me from my skin.
Will I fall apart or finally be whole?
(The salt says: breathe it in.)
Your midnight moonlight falls like rain,
draws my lifeline taunt and slack.
Not all demons can be slain.
(The salt says: don’t look back.)
Underfoot, solid ground slides away.
Should I stay, when I may roam?
Freedom is the curse of the lost, they say.
(The salt says: you are home.)

The Great Barrier Reef is Dead

The Great Barrier Reef is Dead. 
This is what my mother says   as she drops the groceries on the table.This is what the TV says  on the eight o’clock news  (but not the six o’clock, nor the ten o’clock) 
This is a scream  a blank   black and white statistic, stark   and silent 
Sorry tomorrow, sorry yesterday,  Sorry my children, grandchildren, my roots,  my branches, my buds, my fruit 
Sorry little girl, dreaming of octopi and jellyfish,  sorry little sister. Sorry we did not try to swim  until we were drowning, and some of us not even then.  Sorry coral-bright cuttlefish, sorry dazzling pacific porpoisessorry flickering underwater fireflies.  Sorry you shrank while we grew.Sorry it ended this way. Sorry it did not have to. 
Hope is a tiny, glowing thing that takes root  between anemones and art class  between happiness and the horizon  between the moment before you know and the moment after.  The Great Barrier Reef is dead. 
I dreamt last night I could breathe underwater —  I tasted salt against my tongue, I kicked my feet and they were fins  I dreamed a vibrant world beneath the surface  the laughing seagrass kissed my toes strands of pearls curled themselves in my hair  You are dreaming, they sang as I swam on  You are dreaming, the bubbles whispered against my skin  You are dreaming, sobbed the slow, endless tide. You are dreaming. You are dreaming.  The Great Barrier Reef is dead 
but there is no one to blame no murderer to pin   with a name – the young   are the ones, the daughters and sons who will inherit  this earth. Teach them not to  point fingers and let bitterness linger  let them be your rebirth so they don’t have to sit and watch the world fall   apart. Reset. Restart. Redirect. Connect. There’s still so much to protect. 

Process

I was inspired to collect my writings and photographs about the sea. The ocean itself is so beautiful and awe-inspiring, it lends itself to art and creation.

Meet the Pair

Mentee Sylvi Stein & Mentor Nan Bauer-Maglin

Sylvi’s Anecdote: My mentor Nan and I meet weekly in Le Pain Quotidien for some good chatting and good poetry. We always have something new to share, to laugh about, or to discuss in righteous indignation. We both enjoy reading and erasing poetry to make something entirely new.

Nan’s Anecdote: I have been a mentor to Sylvi for two years. In terms of history, I expect in maybe four or five years to see Sylvi’s name on a book cover titled: The Next Wave of Young Women Poets.