Casting off the lines.
\nFog, water, light.
\nThe phantom of the pier.
\nVoices magnified,
\nstanding still.
\nMy father gathering up
\nthe ropes.
\nSmell of canvas sails,
\nfish.
\nI huddle cold
\nby the center board,
\nlisten to the wash of water
\non the rocks,
\nthe sides of the boat.
\nI will not forget this,
\never,
\nmy child says.
\nWe have not forgotten, I reply.
\nOur father is going to set
\nus free.<\/p>\n
He pushes on the pier
\nwith his leg,
\nand drops in the boat.
\nI feel the love of his excitement.
\nWe will sail and fish.
\nI watch the shore recede.
\nMy father rolls a cigarette
\nand lifts a sail.
\nLife eddies away.
\nWould he mind if I touch
\nhis face?
\nI will not always be alive.
\nI peer out the window
\nabove these words.
\nGoodby, I say.
\nAs I huddle by the keel.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Casting off the lines. Fog, water, light. The phantom of the pier. Voices magnified, standing still. My father gathering up the ropes. Smell of canvas…<\/p>\n