The Mistress

by Amelia Bisaccia, age 15
The Mistress

“It wasn’t silent, as nothing ever really is.

Moonlight lay on the waves

and hung in her tears.”

It wasn’t silent, as nothing ever really is.

Moonlight lay on the waves

and hung in her tears.

 

The crashing of the water on the bay

echoed through her head

weaving its way in between each jumbled thought.

 

The sky and the sea shared their color,

the moon hanging from a string in the inky atmosphere.

 

She stood with her feet in the sand and waited for sunrise

so that she could return to him

and take once more what she believed to be rightfully hers.

 

But there was only midnight and the sea,

and the sun had a long way to go.

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