Turtle Island (part three)

Turtle Island

iii.

Distance daunts to insignificance, if cutting stones

And this one dare suppose…are torture less than suffocation

A fate that by those things the prisoners

(who years have cruised seas Indonesian)

Know themselves, as in, “I know myself a thing about

volcanoes. We are,” the reluctanter hisses, to the partner in sorrows

he counts but scarce a friend, “not near far enough inland.”

But the bolder shrugs, and choosing not to waste a minute

making points as easily demonstrated

Heaves off…and lights with luck

Too bad then, if in stingy mood her ladyship

Deems him used the other’s up

Hallo says a woman in western dress

Her voice a study in dry expectancy, she steps

No, rather flies, the rushing sea

Alive with menace, gulps and spits

And on the prow bare-toed she stands

(did so, when first their eyes had met)

She calculates her craft’s uplift, she leaps

Has leapt

Her face to him would be an angel’s ne’ertheless

“You are a missionary.”

“No. Daughter of a bride. The tide goes out,” she says

“The tide comes in. Call the mountain

Whitelock, do you? Here we do not speak its name.”

Turtle Island

Fog Bound

Turtle Island (part four)

(2019, Stephanie Foster)