My mind is a ship, ferrying war worn men across the sea.
They chatter amongst themselves, because they are hopeful,
even as they look around and see the darkness that envelops them,
the mercury of water and the shut eyes of the sky,
they are hopeful because the ship, My Mind, churns through the umber unphased.
The men sit huddled in the vessel.
They are pressed against each other like teeth in a mouth that sputters courage to silence
they talk about the shine of their wives’ eyes, the way she laughed, the smell of home, the food - to fall quiet when their children being brought up.
The question of “how long has it been since you saw them?”
has no reply.
The answer is that it has been too long since they departed.
The answer is that the memories they have are now speculation.
My Mind buckles against the growing wake of waves,
shifting its weight to cradle the men against the sinking threat of tempest,
pushing against the interruption of their journey,
thinking of the men, who have run out of things to say, filling the time with glances and polite smiles, as they brace against the surge of power.
Siren song rises, peeling off the salty air of surf,
sticking to the skin with the same sickness as jellyfish stings
antagonizing the man to stir, to be seen by the merry maids,
drifting in the dark, humming, giggling, singing to them.
The men turn away from each other.
Their fingers hook the edge of My Mind.
Coos break over them.
The men, they rise, bumping shoulder to shoulder, their mouths agape.
One calls their wife’s name.
A giggle answers, the man jolts forward.
My Mind veers starboard,
hurling the men back into my refuge,
shielding them from the lure,
from the dark that is confused with the sky with those voices crying on.
My Mind bolts, with the raging wind, filling with its howls
running from it or with it- which ever gets us home first,
whatever keeps My Mind full of worn thoughts that still need to be said.