Sea Fire

Arthur Meiselman

(From The Lyriana Nocturnes)

Scene4 Magazine — inSight - perspectives on arts and media
writings: monologues

April 2012

I am your reader and you are my listener. I am a wanderer and I can not tell you where I have come from because you could not believe it nor accept it. Shall I sing?  Listen to a song you have never heard before and yet, it seems familiar, distant, a memory. From where you are sitting, look beyond me and around me. You see deep blue falling on the walls and shadows of lighter blue drifting in through the windows. You hear water, windblown water falling outside the walls, a constant sound of the sea breathing into the land.

Along the land, the coastal land, as the summer ends, a new summer begins. The nights are colder, the sun is weaker, but the sea is still warm. In the warmth of the afternoon, I walk along the grass-to-sand edge of the house, circling it, painting a fence around it with my body, protecting it. She is asleep inside, I am awake.

For ten years we were lovers… an affair of the heart, I called it. But you are a thief of hearts, she would say. And what are you, I would say, my victim? No, she would whisper, your loot.

For ten years we touched each other's skin, we slept together and bathed together. We stared into each other's eyes until our eyes went dark. We whispered our names in a thousand different phrases, in a hundred gestures, in silences that flooded the memory with music. We went to places, walked along streets, lonely together because we couldn't share with other people. Afraid to share, afraid to lose a moment, because above all, our passion for each other glowed… green like sea fire, glimmering like a delicate, thin glass, floating on our fingertips, buoyant from our breath, waiting to shatter if either of us so much as blinked. We believed, I believed, that one day we would fall asleep together and never wake up. We would cross from white to black… no shades or colors in between… the most dangerous expense of life.

Then it came. Now she is asleep, falling asleep… and I am awake.

Share This Page

View other readers' comments in Letters to the Editor

©2012 Arthur Meiselman
©2012 Publication Scene4 Magazine

Arthur Meiselman is a playwright, writer and the Editor of Scene4.
He also directs the Talos Ensemble and produces for Aemagefilms

For more of his commentary and articles, check the Archives
Read his Blog


Scene4 Magazine - Arts and Media


April 2012

Cover | This Issue | inFocus | inView | reView | inSight | inPrint | Perspectives | Blogs | Books | Comments | Contacts&Links Masthead | Submissions | Advertising | Special Issues | Contact Us | Payments | Subscribe | Privacy | Terms | Archives

Search This Issue Share This Page

Scene4 (ISSN 1932-3603), published monthly by Scene4 Magazine - International Magazine of Arts and Media. Copyright © 2000-2012 AVIAR-DKA LTD - AVIAR MEDIA LLC. All rights reserved.

Now in our 12th year of publication with
comprehensive archives of over 6500 pages 

Character Flaws by Les Marcott at
Gertrude Stein-In Words and Pictures - Renate Stendhal