Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “…write entries for an imaginary dream dictionary. Pick one (or more) of the following words, and write about what it means to dream of these things: Teacup, Hammer, Seagull, Ballet slipper, Shark, Wobbly table, Dentist, Rowboat
I chose “Rowboat” but was tempted to choose “Dentist” and just repost my poem from April 5 as I’ve been busy traveling all day. Happy to be safely docked at home now…
Somewhere, between the shore and Seal Ledge,
a fog bank rolled in like I’d never seen — or
should I say, like I’d never felt — because
I couldn’t see a thing beyond the stern.
There was nothing to do but
come about, head back to shore.
I pulled her round starboard, shouted,
Comin’ about! Starboard she goes!
When I figured I’d made my 180,
I backwatered, steadied and took comfort
in the rhythm of oarlock creak
through the bleak wetness seeping.
A swirling current fought each dip and pull.
Once again, out loud for courage, I shouted
Full steam ahead!
Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!…
but the oarlocks would hop out of their sockets,
force a stop to plop the oars back in their spots.
It wasn’t until I pulled out of the fog bank
and discovered that I’d pulled
right into the clouds that I realized
my sense of direction had gone
horribly wrong. It wasn’t some riptide
making the row so laborious;
I’d been rowing uphill! Into the air! And I still was!
Now, I knew many a fool who could
bring a boat to port or starboard —
north, south, east or west –
but nobody I knew of could
row a boat up or down.
This knowledge gave small comfort.
There was nothing to do but continue.
On I rowed. Up, up, up I went,
beyond the clouds through a fuchsia sunset,
beyond the sunset into infinite indigo
in which yellow stars were twinkling.
I chose one for my heading.
You can find me docked there.
Written by Elizabeth Boquet, April 2018