photo by Alex Lear

Weigh Anchor

it’s moving 

on time, the skies are clear 

the tattered sails are mended, those same 

sails which would not, or so it seemed, 

carry us any further, your look 

in the car outside the park 

after the interview on the radio, my 

weary weight sagging into the passenger 

seat beside you, head thrown all the way back, 

eyes closed and nobody, not even you, knowing 

where i was at that moment, there was a hole 

in me below the water line, i had to stop 

to repair and though you rode proudly 

high in the water your rudder was gone 

this bay 

of us shown nowhere on our maps 

suddenly found on our transitional coast, we look 

up and see we, you plug holes, i fix rudder, 

and when we are through what do we do, 

linger, no, this is harbor but not home, 

what we have shared it is now time to leave 

we weigh emotional anchors and set sail 

each to another place that the other 

is not going

—kalamu ya salaam