In which Your Humble Blogger continues her obsession with large-scale modes of transportation -- this time incorporating boats!
"My Father, the Sailor"
What did I know about my father
Except that he would leave before
The first lonely horn could test
The stillness of morning? To me,
The horns of the commuter trains opened
Onto the same channels as the wounded wails
Of foghorns. The trains' wheels, too,
Rocked in waves. It was all high drama,
And I, good little sailor in isolation,
Would navigate my dreams of him
By the night light left as my northern star.
* * *
Total fiction, written in free verse.
This was written as an attempt to capture that odd chill that used to hit me on mornings when I would be outside, waiting for a bus or a train, before the sun was anywhere near up. I found those mornings to be some of the loneliest and most haunting times....
One image I do like from this poem is that of a night light serving as a navigational marker. :)