Member-only story
POETRY
The Ship is on Fire
A remembrance of grief and memory
‘I am no sailor,’ she said
‘But I have served on burning ships
If you look closely you can see the scars.’
I tried not to stare, but wanted to ask,
Were they caused by accident or misfortune?
She could not read my thoughts,
But said she still felt the heat from those fires
As she fought with too small a bucket
Unable to quell the blazes of consequence
‘The flames. Did they scorch your skin?’
‘Some, but other wounds, were forged from less corporeal matter
Invisible but no less burdensome
Those notional anvils continue to weigh on my steps.’
She recalled standing amongst the oily heat
Breathing the fumes of sabotage
With the urge to create and the ability to destroy so keenly matched
Terrified, she called out
And yet again
Wondering why no-one would answer
Hoping for a miracle
When none were on offer that day.
