A Mother’s Presence

Mornings I sit at the bow of my boat
the sail tied to the boom
the sea rocking in rhythm with the whales
and I wonder, as the sun
sneaks up behind me, how did I
get this far out, this far into
the blue green eye of Earth.
I don’t know anything about sailing
or how to use a southerly wind
to slog north or how to stay
upright in a crosswind or storm
or flip the sail without kissing
the fast sweeping boom.

Sweet sneaky sun. 
Translucent morning moon swimming
through the pink pastel atmosphere.
How did I make it this far?
How can I be alive and alone. 
I can’t sail. How could I tend to the rudder
and manage the sail 
without splitting myself in half.
Or without something
someone else?


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