At Sea
Posted by Garrett Carey | Filed under Poetry, Print
People always tell me
it wasn’t my fault. There was nothing
I could do, her depression
was beyond my control, I loved her
harder and longer than anybody could;
half of life is just
showing up.
It’s natural
to offer a patch of consolation
to a wounded friend
when you, like nearly everyone
lack the needle
or the medical skills to stitch them up,
but there is always something
I could have done, always
some point I can be better,
some eye contact, some curl
of the lip, some honest human
reversion to dopey, sundrunk courtship
with all the tiny wonders
to blur the big looming questions of life
into the background.
I could have found a way
to anchor her to a reality bent and
burning under the millennial pressure
of love too silly to know it has a definite place
in time. There was a right moment
to lean over and remind her
through the gloss of her tears
that she has a favorite flower,
an ice cream shop in Queens,
a first time. To be touched
lovingly is to fold
all of your possible futures
back on to your single, lonely past
and let them crush it out of existence.
It’s simple magic,
honest, endless, cheap.
The truth is
there is no destiny or duty
to a life at sea. Sailors set out
because they’d rather miss home
than be there.
3 Responses to “At Sea”
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Victoria Joseph Says:
June 21st, 2009 at 11:35 pmI really like this poem.
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Chloe Wayne Says:
June 22nd, 2009 at 8:56 pmthis is completely beautiful.
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Rick Says:
July 8th, 2009 at 4:00 pmthat’s freakin awesome!
