Windward

Circa Nov 2009

There is rot in the crib

Tar and sludge

it sticks upon the hands

it gums up the gears...

We sailed 

three long months after the storm

listing heavily to port

tattered but made well.

even if it leaked

we kept that thing afloat

but the rice sacks bulge in the hold

and the rats scurry in the scuppers

and though the wind is fair

and the sky bright

we could still crack up and go down
were a wave to catch us crossways

Fragile, these beams

Young but weathered

We'd have known kindness this fall

selfless kindness

and tolerance

and trust

open trust

not the suffocating, squeezing kind

but open and free

and it has kept us afloat

and that has been good

but it is dark and lonely just now

excruciatingly so

The only mercy we ever truly know

is the mercy we learn to show ourselves

and that is the hardest thing we can grant ourselves

whether in the eye of the storm

or in irons.