Day 11: Not all families are the same at this time of year.

This table grains as an ocean, as a slice of muscle.
Our quiet vessels traverse, dock their toasts, eyes meet

over the weather of our hands. No longer do we sail low
with wine – the blood we share more than enough

to mellow the chop. So few jolly boats now. Somewhere a lost soul
founders on the rocks of this season, monsters unmapped

and never sung about. Somewhere else the hold pangs empty
and the boiler burns down. Somewhere pirates have boarded

and all that once shone is being divided. You compass three plates
and I mark three directions of wind with a fork, and this is plenty

for today, and more than any map promised. One of us prows fast
toward the horizon, lookout crow-calling land, land

that none of us can see. Somewhere a wheel creaks and creaks
in a hard turn. Somewhere the bottle swings and breaks

and there’s cheering. Somewhere a tradition cuts anchor,
unloads all its ballast. Sun fills my glass: let me pour more into yours.

Ankh Spice @SeaGoatScreams is our official New Zealand correspondent. Poet, runner, sea-goat, multiple Pushcart nominee, friendly presence, co-editor at @IceFlowP and @BarrenMagazine, and now the proud parent of his own collection – The Water Engine: https://bit.ly/2Zpbtl4

It’s wondeful to have him here.

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8 thoughts on “Day 11: Not all families are the same at this time of year.

    • Merril, I don’t usually see the comments here, I’m really glad I did this time. Thank you for very much getting this poem. There’s loss in the dispersal, but we make our own new traditions. Here this time of year is all about the sun, and that’s the new take I’d give anyone who needs one.

      Liked by 2 people

  1. Thank you so much for making me part of this beautiful advent again Sarah. Itself a new tradition, and I feel so fortunate to be part of it (and this poem that wouldn’t exist had you not been so kind)

    Liked by 1 person

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