Life’s storm blows in from elsewhere.

She’s wrung out,
Washed up
By a swollen sea.

Breakers bear down,
Rolling in interminable hosts,
Torrents of foamy ghosts,
The only sounds of wind
And her wails:
Her mast is broken,
Jerking in a tangle of rigging and sails.

With Morpheus’ help, she dives under
And drifts into slumber,
Sails straight back
Into the raging tempest
Of another nightmare,
Clinging to the deck
Amid broken shards of sleep
And dawn’s shipwreck of sheets.

Stirred by keening gulls,
Light playing through her window
Encrusted with barnacle sparkles
Of salt and sun,
She surfaces,
Lifts languid limpet lids,
Remembers she has to walk the dog
And make breakfast for the kids.

© Kim M. Russell, 2016

The Shipwreck on Northern Sea Ivan Aivazovsky (1865)

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