It wasn’t until her fingers ached with the holding

that she stumbled upon what her heart most craved.

Recasting flotsam into jetsam proved complex –

each snippet and stub, accumulation of a misspent life,

ingrown toenails like colonized barnacles on a heartless hull.

Which to discard?

Where to lay it down?

Her broken treasures had put down diseased roots,

fusing flesh to failure, marrying captain to ship.

Scraping at the splinters, mutiny of the highest order,

was pain more exquisite than the requisite lashes.

But unimaginable riches winked on the sand

and sang Siren notes pure and sweet,

daring surrender, demanding an answer.

Her cries of agony crashed like breakers

as her keel cracked wide;

sea air seared skin freshly exposed to the elements

while baubles trickled to the sand,

frothing like the surf.

Layer upon layer,

all, all became Crusoe to her perfect storm,

her tears lost at sea

with the pounding of her chest

as freedom stirred chains.

At last,

trembling,

spent,

she knelt on bloodied knees

before the pearl of great price

with all she had left –

empty hands.