My Little Boat
In homage to, "Paddle To The Sea."
With my pocket knife I whittled
A piece of pine, nondescript,
By convention belittled.
I cut myself when I slipped.
Naturally, I bled.
I guessed part of my work would be red.
Wounded, more determined,
I, more mindful, sliced
Slivers from the wood,
Falling clean and bright
Around my work shoes,
A pile of little sticks
That might have been matches,
Except they had no heads.
I carved out a hull
Fit for Thor and Odin
To sail out to break skulls,
Or if not to sail, then to row in.
Cheating a little,
I used a stout dowel
For a mast and spars
On which to hang a sail.
Her sail was a bit of denim shirt
That I had worn to pieces
As I lived.
Threaded steel rod
On her keel
To keep her upright,
Monofilament
Her rat lines
To keep her mast
Standing straight,
My longboat ready,
I stuck her in the snow,
Sail unfurled,
Ready to go,
On the bank
Above the creek,
That leads to the lake
That leads to the locks
That leads to the river
That leads to the ocean
That leads to the world.
I never went back
To see if she made it,
But in my heart
I see her sailing
Sailing
Everywhere.
