XXXII

February 2, 2001.
The last male survivor of the sinking of the Titanic
Has died in Southern France.
He did not remember being afraid.
Why should he have been?
Cradled in a father’s embrace,
Still warm from sleep.
A father would never know that his boys,
Would one day be known only as Orphans
Of the Titanic
As children with no names-
But at least they lived.
At least they lived.

The hands of a ship that took so many
That left so many wasted,
That took the souls of the fathers
Of the mothers
Of the sons, the daughters
Left him-
Still warm from sleep

He lived to be 92 years old.

XXXI

Dear Lifeboat 13,

You saved my life over and over again
and my words,
My simple and barren words,
Will be but wisps on your memory when you finally
Decay.
I almost didn't get to leave, 13.
Second class and I just had to play the patience charade,
In a mass of people more like a brain cell
Than a crowd.
I was the last one in.
13, did you feel my body sink into your floorboards
And my nails scratch your oars?
Did my tears make you shudder
With the weight of my life that was before-
Did you feel it disappearing?

Lifeboat 13, you saved me,
And every day you will save me
From being a number in a book

I may have lived before,
But you will always be the vessel
That truly brought me home.

Sincerely.

***

I am the word of God.
My spine was first creased at baby Grace’s
Christening,
When all I could see were the deep canyons
Of the priest’s cheeks
Warmed by the heat of many candles
And smiling eyes.

I saw her marriage renewal, the day the crisp
Irish rain made my body weak,
But their hands clasped tight in a labyrinth
Of unity
I hoped it would one day save them

I embraced the thick leather of a suitcase
Many years too used
The mismatched socks and I held tight
As the waves tried to jostle us free
But I, I am the word
Of God
I will not be moved or
Redefined

The air felt too close one night
The dark too dark
The air too clear
My heartbeat too fierce

And my pages, my pages open
An unfamiliar hand follows the words of
Hallowed be Thy Name
And if I could hold them back I would,
My people, I would cradle
You

But I can only beg of you
To keep your faith
No matter how much it may
Sting

Keep your faith and I’ll hold you fast and
strong

XXIX

She has haunted my sleep for long enough, I fear-
My nightmares of ghost ships break the still night air
Too swiftly, too fiercely- the wound still stings.
In the night my heels and toes wander listlessly to the graves
Of those others have perhaps forgotten. I have not forgotten.
Fairview cemetery, Halifax, Nova Scotia.

The blank faced child, whom no one claims,
I fear has entered the end of life without the warmth
Of a mother’s embrace. I would hold them. I would love them.
The graves climb the hill like cinderblocks, one pushing the other
Up towards some heaven
Some beautiful blue sky where their souls must lay
And though the trees are bare and the sky feels cold
The silence calms me; here, they feel no water. No collapsing
Floor.

One hundred and twenty one ladies and men and children
Will rest here forever.
Among the graves I lay down my funeral bouquet,
Along with my ghost ship nightmares-
The world’s pain, and mistakes, and visions of a darker day
May perhaps one day rest here too
And float up towards some heaven,
Some paradise.

XXVIII

New York was far too bittersweet
For my taste-
I spit it out, gave it back.
You lied, my friend- my poor and
Huddled mass isn’t good enough
For your golden streets.
I got off the rescue ship thinkin’
That survivin’ must mean I’m gonna
Be somebody, that maybe because a lifeboat
Walled me in, held my hand through disaster-
I had some meaning. Some reason
To walk on tall into your open,
American arms.

But I checked the list of the dead
Today. I read name and name and name
And
There is no way there were two
Margaret Clarence Smitholds
On that there ocean voyage.
What’s so dead about me?

I checked today and I walk and I talk
Far better than a plastic doll
And there’s no livin’ part of me I left on
That boat
‘cept maybe my heart

Because lord, there ain’t no
Dead in my skin
But I’m **** close to not bein able
To feel
anything

XXVII

A three of clubs.
A clarinet missing seven keys.
A left shoe, untied.

A cross on a fine gold chain.
Hot and cold bath knobs.
Three rubies, twelve emerald earrings
And seven diamond necklaces.
A baby doll.

A broken pocket watch.
Gold coins.
The teardrops of every man to lose
a lover
The hurt of every child to have lost
a mother
For every girl to have lost a boy
For every hand to have lost a hand
to hold
A friend to lose a friend

One thousand, five hundred
and seventeen souls.

XXVI

Some say I’ll see the edge of nowhere
When I get there;
Trees will grow their roots up,
Streams will run backwards,
The grass will be bright blue-
and my unborn son, born
to the grave.

My wife has nightmares
about crying children and
screaming and waves
and I hush, hush, there
my dear wife of Halifax
and tell her the end is nowhere
in sight

In the dead of night I stand on
the boat deck
and wonder what’s really out
there
in the grand, decent world
Because Lord, if there’s no
plan for me
no place, no job, no
family
then I’ll just go

Just please, Lord-
let my baby live
and make it home