Time 2

/ Liz H-H

A fog-locked boat, lost in Superior shipping lanes,
Radar reflectors hung high on mast and wide on boom,
Churns in a stomach-grinding corkscrew of wave.

You haven’t eaten for weeks.             

Sheets rustle as you roll side to side, whispering memories
And gratitude to those sharing in the journey
As best we can because
We never learned your native language.

We float in still waters, sails cold, limp and damp, turgid with pain,
But sometimes belled with glorious memories, unconfirmed;
We brace ourselves and grab a winch or gunwale
Lest we be tossed overboard, and lost.

All at once we arrive in your Now,
Softly bobbing in memory, at anchor in a sheltered Northern bay:
Clear constellated night sky,
Full moon limning the cockpit,
Light wool sweater,
Malt-smoke scent of lowball Scotch,
Guitar notes like dew from the one neighboring boat.

We kids watch from the shadow of the open hatch,
Heads lifted like curious meercats, as
Two lovers kiss.

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2024)

The challenge? Write a story in exactly 6 sentences based on Denise’s one word prompt: HATCH. Visit, comment, and write & perhaps post your own on SIX SENTENCE STORIES. The Café is open. Come as you are!

 

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