Childhood Thoughts from a Boat
Damp with Pacific breath, my pillow
is lit by a fringe of moon. A sequence
of waves from a departing boat sloshes
against the hull and jars the closet door open.
Bells chime along the bougainvillea-tangled
hill that juts above the harbor. Scents of mildew
and vinyl hover near musty life jackets
stored below my bunk. Plastic mugs, with anchor
designs, creak together on the rack; the dinghy
bumps against the stern. In the bow, I zip
my sleeping bag and listen for phantoms
and sea sprites; those unseen entities
that capture children by lifting an unlocked hatch,
and pull them off to feed.
* Karen Kelsay is a Pushcart Prize nominee and the author of three chapbooks A Fist of Roots, Somewhere Near Evesham and Song of the Bluebell Fairy, published by Pudding House Publications and The New Formalist Press. Her most recent work has appeared in Boston Literary Magazine, Linnet's Wings, Flutter and Tipton Poetry Review. You can read more of her poetry at http://karenkelsay.com
