Poem

Camille asked me to post some poetry, already, so here is one from a 2005 unpublished collection called Marie of Rumania, subtitled Poems of Love and War.

Liturgy at Sea

I am cast adrift in this small boat.

O for an anchor or the sight of land.

The wind drowns my cries.

A bird far from shore

keeps to his way.

There is comfort in ritual, at least.

As night fades to day, then,

let us welcome the light.

We will always do this in the same way;

the gesture is harmless.

No evil can come from it.

Amid chaos, perhaps we can create

order in some small way.

Here is a rope; let me coil it.

With cupped hands, bail water

without thinking how small the vessel.

Casting thought about,

I find no way to save myself,

swimming with no shore in sight,

signaling to nobody,

but I am grateful for the calm,

for the time, for the humble boat,

for the temperate weather.

I cannot avoid hoping.

Hope is a kind of anchor

to replace the one I lost,

so I watch and wait

and hope says help may appear.

Hunger and thirst make their demands

but the eyes are feasting.

The wave crests reflect a glory

the departing sun has painted

and in its setting I know now

which way is West.

In the night, the boat rocks

like a cradle. I am cold,

but not afraid. I remember

the lullaby she sang.

I see her face in the moon

when the clouds pass.

When day breaks, I sing

the lullaby to the morning breeze

and do my welcoming ritual.

I am grateful for the sun's warmth.

I cannot keep talking to myself.

Something in the smell of sea spray

reminded me of incense.

I could pray, I thought,

but the only prayers I know

are Please, Thank You, and

Lord Have Mercy.

So I say these words

over and over until I feel

the companionable mist all around

and the sturdy rocking water

supporting the little boat

and the current which knows its way.

For a while, at least,

I am not cast adrift, but rather surrounded

above, below, about,

as if I were held in a giant hand.