Unmooring My Blue Boat That Was Hidden For So Long By Trish Saunders

 

After months in weeds, I thought my little blue boat was

ruined.

It hardly leaks at all.

Hop in, I say to a wood duck watching from the shore.   

See how it feels to be a passenger

 for a change.

He nods yes, he would like that.

and we drift, us two, for hours

over Lake Washington 

until I see a face 

staring up at me from the reeds.

Come on in, it whispers,

 the water’s fine,

which startles me awake.

The duck has flown.

How far away the shore is now, how very far away. 

Trish Saunders writes poems and short fiction from Seattle, formerly Honolulu. She has been published in The American Journal of Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine, Medusa’s Kitchen, Off The Coast, Pacifica Poetry Review, and the Rye Whiskey Review.