Seaweed Bath: Bundoran, Donegal

Land that beckons in my blood,
rich in peat and ruins and roundabouts.
Never did I imagine a spa. Under advice,

here I steep like tea in warm seaweed
to reduce swelling, detoxify, cure
any problem, an ad claims. Wounded and sore

after trekking, tripping over a Dingle rock wall,
today running from the pelt of hail,
I’m in. Green strands like spirals

of DNA caress across shoulders, belly,
breast, limbs. A limerick to celebrate…

Bathing in kelp
would deliver the help
to remove all her pain and her worry.

No wonder seals float with composure.
The once known world shrinks away.
I am seal
hidden, untouchable in my tub,
only pale toes visible above dark undulations.

Winter’s not done with us yet,
swells colder than hell, the surf shop man
complained. Lucky me, I sink

under water, hold breath, think
of my mother, her old family in Donegal begun.
Mother, do you hear the lash of wind,

an angry tongue licking stones, laying the grass down?
Though you turned from your roots, I’m dowsed.
From this tentative womb
I slip out, dripping, body oiled and sleek.

(c) Perie Longo

Live Encounters, January, 2017