Rough Crossing

Half a mile from the shore boats turn into diving fish, the sky roars by derailed by the horizon. The Lake Erie ferry skims the crashing crests rises as a seagull, scooping up the flying spray. We passengers go below abandoning the deck to the scouring winds. Children are gathered up into protective huddles. I catch my reflection, my grin is fixed and stiff. The skipper calls out: this is normal for the time of year! The tense mood of the cabin calms. My jaw aches for the rest of the day.