Ophelia of the West Coast
OPHELIA OF THE WEST COAST
She chose it well for Elsinore
this rotting tooth of weathered rock
where white sand aprons offer access from the beach
Due west a cold pelagic mass of grey
its undercurrents set her nerves on edge
impatient echoes rippling through the auditorium
drum-roll then her entrance
ripples of applause from breakers on the rocks below
On any other day she might have danced to centre stage
but stumbling now as if from belladonna
like a fallen Fonteyn
dragging feet as heavy as her ballast heart
in listless free-fall as she neared the edge
The onshore wind would surely strew her hair to tatters
set her practised smile askew
her grease-paint cracked and weathered
lifeless eyes as pearled as oyster-shell
and tears as bitter as Sargasso
She may have paused to gain her bearings
struck a wordless pose like Garbo
cast her tattered nets for prompts
her lines adrift
her stuttering soliloquy inaudible
Then buoyed by seagulls screaming encore
fake bouquets of spume and salt spray
overcome as her quietus now becomes
her mute appeal
one woe upon another’s heel
H