Seahorse by Cathrine Lodoen
Years have passed, but the images linger. Specks of sand that irritate my inner eye.
A helicopter. A mother. A father. An ocean. Too many waves. Too much water.
It’s too quiet. It’s just too still. I am higher up on the beach, but I can sense the panic. Overwhelmingly loud and quiet panic. There are clenched teeth and screaming horrors on internal screens. There is taste of iron on tongues. It is hard to swallow. It is hard to see.
On the beach a bucket and a spade.
On the beach a sandcastle, lacking only the seaweed she wandered off to fetch. ‘It will make a beautiful woods for the prince to ride through’, a last thought as she glanced at the shells that made up the windows from which she would wait for the prince. Each secured firmly in place by her fingerprint. Safely in their place.
‘On a horse.’
She wandered to the water on her wobbly three year old legs. Singing: ‘Mummy, mummy see me. Mummy, mummy see me.’
A last walk down to the sea for the desired woods. The deep woods. The thick woods.
Mummy’s woods of longing.
Two days later the helicopter returned. This time it hovered lower. Closer. This time it was there to spread her baby ashes out over the sea.
‘Mummy, mummy see me. Mummy, mummy see me.’
Two days later there was no castle to see. No window shells. No prince. No ride through the woods. No princess. No princess indeed. No fingerprints.
Only mummy’s woods of longing.
Only mummy’s woods of longing and a beautiful princess seahorse.
