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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Docked on an opposite shore, peering through round portholes as the river who flowed me to different landscapes slips past, current furious: not quite a pleasure cruise. No swimming pools splashing over onto the smooth wood of a polished deck furnished with plastic, but stormy excursions into the foamy sea, threats of sinking, of capsizing, of mutiny. I miss that ocean; I didn’t think I would love him so much, but, after my boat wobbled in the foam and I slipped into the sea without a life-vest, after I submerged my head with the dolphins and squids and waited for the water to transform me into a finned mermaid with oysters in my hair, I felt at home in its salty swiftness, safe in its kelpy arms, hidden in its coral fortresses. And when my tongue, dried from salt and solitude, began to salivate for the buttery sunshine, something issued an anchor into the sockets where my wisdom teeth once grew, and I surfaced, dripping salt water, breathing. And although the chain between us has since grown rusty with tugging and pulling, new docks, different boats and captains, the sea is still easily crossed, as easily as music attaches itself to cold moonlight. So, maybe our boat has hit a few icebergs – but the Eskimos have patched the holes with pine needles and chocolate syrup; and the boiler room doesn’t make me sweat and sigh– but it leaves me with a tight chest and the warmth felt when, returning after a long voyage, you finally see the shores of home . I love you still, brother: and the sails are full of wind.
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