Slightly seasick, I keep on writing
of the wind-rose and lobster traps,
seagulls, if any—and there always are.
Check the air and you’ll see them
above straw hats and caps.
The sun at noon glides like a monstrous star-
fish through clouds. Others drink iced tea,
training binoculars on a tugboat.
When I finish this letter, I’ll take a gulp
from the flask you gave me for the road
in days when I was too young to care about
those on the pier who waved goodbye.
I miss them now: cousins in linen dresses,
my mother, you, boys in light summer shirts.
Life is too long. The compass needle dances.
Everything passes by. The ferry passes
by ragged yellow shores.
~Katia Kapovich from “The Ferry”
From the perspective of the shore
there are constant comings and goings
of boats and large ferries
seagulls and terns
waves lapping the beach
and then sliding away.
Am I coming or going
or only passed by
other comings and goings?
Life is too short,
never too long.
I reach to catch a wave
and hold on tight.