There is no one on the ferry tonight.
When I say no one,
I mean no...one.
I am the only passenger.

The crewmen go about their usual business
And I sit on the top deck
For the first time in a year;
letting the for-once warm air touch my body again.
It was snowing two days ago.
It is now the first of May.

I open my library book that is long overdue
I'm only forty pages away from the finish,
Maybe I can get it done tonight.

But when we pull away from the deck
And I can't keep my eyes off of her.
The skyline.
The city.
The moon has made his début
and he paints her so perfectly,
with a silvery glow
and fuzzy edges.

I crack the spine and let the frayed pages
reach for each other,
overlapping like intertwined fingers,
and shut the cover.

I am in awe.
I am a child, reaching out,
grasping at lights,
languidly,
wanting to capture fireflies
on hot summer nights -
just to feel them,
as if they were mine,
for a moment.
Hold it,
hold it
hold this peace and don't let it go.

I do not feel my body
because,
in these precious few minutes,
I am free of it.
I do not have my body
I do not have that burden
There is no more head cold
No more pain
No more flesh anchor
to feel discomfort.

We push away from the ground
further into the harbour
And my eyes trace the road maps,
Carlights glide through it like a maze.

I see bright signs,
in-your-face advertisements
but their meaning -
their Capitalist importance -
is lost on me.
It beads off my mind like wet drops on duck down.
I am invulnerable to these pressures,
these pushing ideas,
these modes of persuasion.

I'm now caught by the bridge.
By cars on trucks on vans on bikes
All criss-crossing across it.
I am confused
Isn't it closed tonight?
Isn't that why I'm here?
No, it strikes me,
This, is a Friday.
The bridge is open.
People have decided to use the bus instead.
And I am thankful.

We stretch far enough from our starting point
I can't clearly make out the signs anymore.
I lose interest,
I test my vision. Focus on one bridge,
then the next.
Watch the yellow orbs follow one another,
and become less and less frequent.

We come closer to our destination
And my insides hum with inner peace.
I switch seats.
Watch the shoreline approach.
I see so many of the streets
I run back and forth on daily.
I see the Casino
I see the harbour view hotel I used to clean.
I hear nothing
but water
splitting and spitting
parting ways at the will of our boat's edges.

As the Navy yard approaches
I wonder if the single sailor I know
is aboard one of those ships.
They are large shadows with smoke
coming from them like dragons.
But they'd be nice, I think.
The smog curls like a tongue on the water,
Dissipates,
And gives way to more
to take new form.
Like a hydra
Where one head is lost
another appears.

And now the signs catch my attention again.
Bank logos identical to the other side.
I am reminded the world is run by banks,
that we eat money.
But the thought is not cynical,
or negatively tainted.
I it just there.
I am only present.
I am the only one present.

Time, the world, is a mountain range.
It stays still, it stays the same,
but people move on top of it.
Sculpt it to their will, and by accident,
and by habit.

I look to the water and am reminded
how dangerous it would be,
for me,
to fall.
But the more you know about something
Does not necessarily,
take away from temptation,
to touch it.

We dock;
We wiggle and jimmy into the boat's parking spot.
And I cannot help but be infected with dismay.
The familiar sights come back to me.
Murphy's,
Theodore,
The board walk.

I reluctantly drag myself from my bliss
and down the stairs,
acknowledging the man letting down the ramp.
He reminds me how lucky I am,
to have a ferry all to myself,
even if only for one night.

I agree.

I grieve at the departure,
Because I am no longer disconnected from the city.
On a safe island of in between,
I am once again a part of it.
I am swallowed by it's presence,
And I am forced to retake my place as a single firing neuron
in a thriving organism;
A toxic ecosystem.

My headache returns.

Coming down from the high of my meditation,
I begin to have 'city thoughts' again.

Baby, if you died tomorrow
I'd get our favorite line
from our favorite song
printed on my back, in your hand

The song you and I danced to
The one where the voice
doesn't match the man,

“It was in love I was created,
and in love is how I hope I die.”

It'd make me cry, everyday
because you did die
But I know you're so selfless
You'd only wish better for me

Now you, the one with the big hair and tiny body
The one who became my first high school friend.
For someone so blunt and honest
I'd never imagine you'd be so sweet.

So if you dies tomorrow
I'd put the twin strawberries
on the inside of my wrist
The ones you sketched on my birthday card

You wrote the two paged, double sided letter tucked inside
I still read it when I feel sad.
It reminds me how incredibly loved I am
and how just plain incredible you are.

You, with the short hair and round glasses
the one with a small voice and big, contagious laughter.
Your performances make my week
And you've made such a big bang in my life
In ways you can never see.

You are a firecracker
And though you may be blind to your own light
That is what I see in you.

You'd be a firework
Exploding on the back of my neck
It'd be more than every color in the rainbow
Because I can't associate just one with you

It's be messy and wouldn't go with any of my clothes
It's be hidden when my short hair grew shaggy
But it'd be undoubtedly you.

You, with the new golden hair
but the always golden insides
I think you, and I think perfect
I think smiles and sunshine and songs

I think all that is good.
So to think you ever want,
ever need, ever hurt
Seems impossible.

You hardly ever let that side show
but when you do
Well, even those moments are beautiful.

I don't know what I'd get for you
Maybe the first poem you wrote for me
The one with flowers draw in the background
- I'm still amazed, to this day, you knew I liked calla lilies

Maybe I'd get the last poem you wrote me
Both put a smile on my face
and I think both apply to you too.

You, when I think of you, I think cool moves at N-trip
I think always knowing what to say
I think beautiful straight hair, bright blue eyes
and completely making my day.

I think of beat box rapping
And your bubbly presence
For you, there is no word picture or phrase
That can sum you up better than your name

I've never seen it spelled that way
And it shows just how amazingly unique you are.

You; when I think of the tattoo I'd get for you
I think of the paper crane you gave me for my birthday,
Now, I know it was last minute
but I'm glad you didn't buy anything.

Paper, to me, is just a blank canvas
I can't wait to write on.
But when you fold it up the way you do,
It reminds me how complicated things are
- Things like you.

Like that crane,
I haven't gotten the opportunity to bend back those folds
Get to know those creases and cracks
But now I'm going to take the chance
That I may never see that bird in the same light again.

Now brother, I don't want to go into detail about your death
Life without our bicker and banter is one I don't want to imagine.

And if you died, I'd always regret not telling you
I love you in ways you cannot fathom.
I don't want to think of you dying,
let alone the tattoo I'd get for you...
Here it goes;

I've thought of things that remind me of you
Baseball bats you drop on your iPod
Hockey sticks who's height you've finally caught up to
But none of those things show you

I think of you and your crazy curly hair
Your goofy ghetto caps
Your thin toothpick frame
and your fast-paced gangster rap

But you can't sum those things up
In song lyrics and pictures.
So as selfish as this sounds,
I'd want you to get the tattoo

I'd want you to be the one with a book on your back
or a pen on your wrist,
I'd want you to be out there and living each day to the fullest
Live each day that I'd miss.

But if you did die tomorrow,
I'd have to drag myself to that parlor
Pick a photo or phrase
Made to represent you

And you have to understand, this isn't something I'd normally do
Tattoos are permanent; unforgettable.
The ink fades and they get ugly as you age
They probably hurt like hell to get and only worse to remove.

But if you died tomorrow.
any of you,
I'd get those tattoos.

Lately…I’ve been practicing sleeping.
I’ve had to take pills to make the thoughts in my head shut off,
Slow down,
Stop,
Long enough to catch some rest.

Now, one of the questions you may be pondering is: why?
Chances are, you know as much as me.
Though I do have a theory at this moment in time…
Maybe it’s because I have worries and fears,
Ones that aren’t always entirely mine.

For instance, my selachophobia can keep me up
All into the wee hours of the night.
A fear of sharks for those of you wondering
And no, I have NO idea as to the origin of this phobia,
Maybe you might...

But can you blame me, really?
Have you seen those things?!
They just aren’t right;

Heads shaped like torpedoes,
Black eyes that roll into the back of their heads,
Serrated sets of teeth like razor blades,
And you wonder why I can’t get to bed?!

It's been proven that some types of sharks
are so big that if they didn't live in the water
they'd be crushed by their own weight on land
Like whales left beached and dying on the hot, dry sand

Basically, anything that swims, floats or crawls in the deep,
THOSE are the creatures
that make me lose sleep!

Then, there are chalkboards,
Before you ask, no, they do not strike fear into my heart
I simply do not like to be near them
And the sound of peoples nails on them – no, no
...I refuse to even start

Then...there's this mouthful: Athazagoraphobia
Fear of being ignored, forgotten or forgetting.

See, ignored is something no one likes to be,
and forgetting is something I think everyone worries about
but being forgotten, left out or remaining unseen
Well, I can't imagine a worse destiny

But believe me,
I know where this phobia stems from.
It's my uncertainty of the future
Graduation's just one year to come...

I don't where I'll be going
I don't know if I'm going to stay
All I know for certain is that I'm going to lose contact with
some of them...someday

I worry that when people look back and think of me
That all they're ever going to see
Was girl with skirts and smiles
Bright eyes and wavy hair
they thought looked pretty.

Not a girl with thoughts
brimming from the tip of her tongue
Someone with a fiery determination
and a need to get things done

But, I suppose I'll have to accept
it's going to be just fine either way.
That all we're ever going to get to say,
are sweet nothings in passing
“Hi's” on each other's facebook walls

Nothing that really means anything
But I suppose that's just dandy, all in all.
The thing is though, I'm just not ready
Not ready to let go

To stop seeing them everyday
To no longer have them within arms-length
To hug and talk to and cuddle with
But for now, all I can do is pray

Pray that these good times will last
Make an imprint in my memory and theirs long enough to remain
Long enough to look back on when decades have passed
With absolutely no need to complain

I always want the comfort of knowing they'll be there
the very second I reach out and need them
Have them there on the other end of the line
To soothe me and keep my nerves at bay

But...eventually...I know we'll all be going our separate ways.

So...that's why I've been practicing sleeping
And I know I'm getting there
But the fears?
Well, the fears aren't really going to go anywhere.