Pier 7

Walking barefoot along the ocean's shore
the white caps break like a standing encore.
Morning skies of crimson and abalone blue,
the salt-scented breeze renews her faded memories of you.

Pictures stamped indelibly into her mind,
now roll like the waves of the incoming tide.
99 dead on Jonah's steel whale
not one survived to tell the tale.

Killed by a fish said to be of their own kind,
all of them died before their time.
Even before the hull grasped the muddy bottom,
most had already been forgotten.

The truth of the story many thought they had to hide
so their fates were marked as classified.
Secrets were kept out of sight,
about the horrors they endured under the red light.

Women with children waited in the foggy rain,
it was the not knowing that caused most of their pain.
Fifty years later, she walks the beach again,
in memory of that day and the 99 men.

Water holds memories of sunken ships and sailors of lore.
Of what consequence are 99 more?
The breeze blows again through her hair,
a tear drops as she reminisces about the day that she stood there.

All hands down 56 years ago May 2024