Lost At Sea

Mermaid

The boat dock settled and tilted into brackens.
Silver fish heads were cut for gull feed.
The dock was rotted, and the heads glanced
off glassy-eyed towards rippling light
on black ebbing waves. The air smelled salty
and seaweed was strewn like a drowned woman’s
hair, beckoning to follow her into the Nowhere.

So I rowed towards the epicenter of the lake,
far from the cove or recognizable coastline
until I could not see the sloops and topmasts.
I could take as long as it takes to get there.
There was no rush. I heard the oars rubbing
against oarlocks prompting me forwards
towards that clear place where fish circled.
The pull of lure and bobbins was strong.
I was beyond the dark splashes of pines.

In the loneliness, distance pushed the hull
and it resisted wanting to return before sun-drop
to the cottages with hung fishing nets
before the nor'easter tore at my face.
But the water was luminous slivers
like cigarette smoke of cursive writing
insisting I stay.

Somewhere, back in the unknown distance,
stricken houses of palsied framework, peeled,
awaiting any kind of news.