Gemma and the word


Like two rusted out old freighters
Breached in brackish water we stand
Too knotted and barnacled to
Even try reach the strand
Of solitude offered by
Sun splintered bleached dock
That we struggled to reach through
Tumultuous green seas and through
Calmed waters of steel and concrete locks;
We’ve searched for security
Offered by rock strewn quay
We now swing listless on chains rusted and blocked
Our scuppers rust clotted with
Seaweed chocked
Our bulkheads are battered
Cables rusty and worn
Canvas weathered, bleached
And wind torn
Too many nights on tempest tossed seas
Too many miles traveled by
My Brother and Me.

(When my older brother was dying of lung cancer)


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