You are a lone skiff
enclosed in the fog of the arctic
as my icy corpse drifts in the steely sea I
didn’t believe you were there but
I could not deny the music
sometimes coming in plucked
strings sifting through the waves
other times in piano chords unwillingly
resuscitating me from the water.
Then there was your voice-
the voice of a child I gazed upon only hours old
the harmony of sibling’s hymns
and your father somewhere behind the serenade
dancing like David his sweat
mixing in the salt water.
Erin is a doula, writer, mother to men, and teacher on permanent hiatus. She loves how writing connects us and thrives on the bright edges of human experience.