The Book Life

4.11 | April 12, 2010

To the Ship I Didn’t Take Across the Atlantic

I wish I were sorrier.
If I were older and felt less
time was left, maybe I would be.
But there is time for you. Later.
Your presence in my life has been merely
postponed. But I still wish
I were sorrier because if I were,
I would be with you
sooner, would see you
sooner, unable to wait. It is because
I am able
to wait
that I have missed you. So far.
I have written you into poems,
I can feel you in
my bones, we will
do it, together,
we’ll cross the ocean –
you just must do it without me,
for awhile, until I come. I know
it’s hard to trust
this promise, the indefinite
future. My ability
to wait, I see it pains you,
I see you longing
for my slight weight
atop your buoyancy,
my feet on your deck. I know
you want to show me your sky,
the one you share only
with your sailors.
I know you are waiting.

But I know you are patient,
and I am swimming
in time.

[PROMPT: Write an epistolary poem to a concrete object in a choice you didn’t make. I went to a writing workshop at Oxford instead of taking a ship across the Atlantic to get home from Europe.]

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Posted in NaPoWriMo, Poetry
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