Open Water


A ship is in the harbor,
connected to a dock,
by a rope;
Her sympathetic captor.
He is friend and foe together.
She is
On the water.

Her sails, tattered,
Can no longer partner with the wind.
She is under repair.
Her hull, shattered
Her masts, weakened
by a storm.

She longs for open water.
For careless, heartless?
waves that toss…
For the sight of the sun slowly slipping  below a shimmering horizon.
For nights on glassy surface 
For blackened sky above
dotted with pinpricks of starlight.

She aches
to feel
wind in canvas,
Ocean spray against hull,
Salt crystalized on deck,
Cunching beneath sailor’s feet.

To venture out
Adventure out
Would risk those
Who trust in her for safety.

Her purpose is to preserve life.
She is
during storm,
during calm.

Would she
Deny her own soul
To pleasure it?
Cast off restraint and rope together?
Taunt certain death to feel alive again? (just once)

Could she
Betray the hands that built her?
Betray herself, her purpose?

Put at risk
Her passengers
Her wards
Her children?

Her heart nearly bursts with yearning,
But stronger still is the sense of duty
And her love.

And so
She waits.
She allows her friend and foe to hold her back from sailing.

It hears her cry,
and whispers promises of tomorrow
To her.

It comforts her.
While she waits.

While she yields herself to repair.
And waits.

For open water.

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