Painting by Richard Sylbert
here
The Boat at the Cottage
by Shariffa Keshavjee
The boat now abandoned lies still,
Once perpetually alive, now still.
Those who clambered aboard – now still.
The boat that glided at sunset to catch – still
One last glimpse of the dying light – still.
Shimmering on the water, glistening,
Colours that trembled in the wake
Now bleed into grey.
It lies at the water’s edge,
Abandoned.
One absence –
Just one –
Has hollowed out everything.
The family gatherings that once spilled
With laughter over the gunwale
Exist now only in the wood’s grain,
Pressed there like flowers between pages,
Dry and faded.
Ah, the boat remembers.
It holds the weight of silent tears
Wept where no one could see them
But the water.
It knows the language of sorrow
Because words had run out.
It carried the quiet nights,
The ones that stretched too long,
Too dark,
Too empty of the voice
That used to fill them.
The boat rocked a little then – and was silent.
A hopeful hand trailed the water –
And was silent.
Listening to the lap, lap, lap
Of the water –
So silent.
So terribly, tenderly silent.
Will other little children
Break this silence
|
