The Beginning
i.m. Dee Dee McCarthy

The ambulance steps introduced grief
quick as an ignite; he was elbow
held as he alighted. The brief identity
seemed to take ages to us, a crowd
of misunderstanding teenagers who
earlier had trawled the muddy bed.
Pull, slosh, release. Pull, slosh, release
hour after long hour.

When we rested at midnight on the
grassy bank drinking donated tea and
swallowing un-tasted sandwiches,
one of the experienced fishermen from
our boat noted the full moon and insisted
that the light would help us with the
falling tide. It was agreed that we would
search for another hour. How right he was.

At fifteen I was afraid to admit to my
exhaustion. Tired mostly from the growing
pains gradually infused by the faint whispers
of reality I continuously overheard. The
swell to the side of the bridge had caught
him off guard and whisked him to where
Jimmy Mac would slowly say, 'hold it, I
felt something there, turn the boat around'.

They reached in and pulled the stiffening
frame on board. Not a word was spoken.
Reality bit hard in the onboard silence.
The oars, his guard of honour gently
nursing our way to the assembly that dotted
the embankment. The uniforms announcing
that it was all over and I a child knowing
full well that this was only the beginning.

Unchartered

I lose myself twice daily
to daylight's elbow of awakening
to fondness and fondling
to carbon plates of yesterday
when my lover stood for all
I wished for without standing
and lost to the embrace of
uncertainty a world will
greet me with and found
in a canyon of affection
sweat dug to hold our love
and echoing volumes of
Extreme Unction

To night time that magnet
for my chewing when I will swim
in juices familiar to one that is us
and you will come and satisfy a
thirst no tongue could transport
no buds will taste but for
the imbibitions of our love
that will skip us through the
non-rapids filling the sails
of sleep with memories of a day
when soldiers played and children
wore no more than the happiness
they had been fighting for