our home was a ship.
I loved our red sails
and every creaking board.
we took turns as its captain
to chart the gentle, desolate sea.
the morning sun was warm
on our bare and rosy shoulders.

our home was a ship
away from which I have been torn along with mossy memories and bleached sea shells,
and though I cling to this debris in hopes that it could lift me up out of this choking unfamiliarity
I still sink further,
my body numb
and breathless,
up to my bare
and icy neck
in the foggy darkness
of the cold,
deep,
and begrudging water.

our home was a ship.

my home was our ship
and I am stranded -
stranded, but even now,
our red sails and
creaking boards and
you are a misty silhouette on the horizon.