In the Boat, a Letter

Francine Conley


My boat lost in a place like surrender.

The sky is a curtain opening itself to glow-in-the-dark
celestial patterns. 

It’s a map memorized as four points
with water all around.  

I cannot hear my voice in the waves.

The world breaks up from so much weight
and miscomprehension.  

How do you say heavy in English? 

I am walking as if waiting
to fall. 

Do I mean drown.

Underneath the water my hair rises like snakes
and I start to tell a story
that vibrates across distances.  

Where to start? 


Our oar leans in the boat
like a promise.

There is a swarming in my mouth.

My ears are shaking because you told them