water, light, sails up! reckless in the wind!
we are going, we go! dark waters chop
crayola says the color is this: Midnight Blue. I name you this, sea
(the favorite, the deepening, for comfort, a sweatshirt this color in winter against the rain, for basketball under drizzling skies inland)
but dahls porpoises that played moments ago are gone, we outside on decks sloshing, now it's turning dark, late winter storm coming!
to the tiller! ok! I rush. tiny hands undoing knots. one sail slack. we are bobbing in the water, it chops like our axe back home on winter wood, on the sides of The Otter, hard, on our small boat
suddenly in all the action, though we all must jump to feet, survival, save, not close to shore nor harbor, my child's mind flashes, inconveniently:
warm dinner indoors, spaghetti or glowing shrimp from a night catch, a gentle hand on my back
sing Raffi songs long enough to drive everyone nuts
adopt-a-whale bubblegum pack
my friends, new saddle shoes, our chickens, my new book
it's all waiting for me; all growing more dear, our storm worse, not better, San Juan Island rain pounds millimeter needling splashes into my fat redcold cheeks
Midnight Blue chops staccato unearthly experimental rhythms into our hull
new song, this storm, frightening, violence of nature, force we are at the mercy of!
all hands on deck! we are! tie her off starboard! ok! Midnight Blue, I pray at you, be gentle with us! I want to go back to school
and suddenly you do, winds ease, why she's - nevermind,
calm, with a light wind
we sail in