Below decks, the ship's cargo
of wine, cork and olives
lay solid against the pitch and roll
of the waves.
In the second-mate’s locker,
in his cabin in the poop,
lay a soft-wrapped package
for his distant, patiently waiting wife.
He’d seen the shawl,
blood-red,
black-tasselled,
in the market in Cadiz,
pictured her,
with love in her eyes,
her long black hair
drawn back to a bun,
the red shawl
drawn round the shoulders
of that dark olive-green dress
brought back from what had been,
a previous good voyage.
Author notes
poop = the enclosed space in the aftermost part of a sailing ship.
A contest entry
- I just want your personal best. by disparate.
900 points, ended February 20, 2007, 55 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
This had a nice wistful air to it, very sentimental and touching. I liked the images you created, the sense of love and longing within the last stanzas felt very strong to me. The pictures created were very strong.
Thanks for taking the time to enter (sorry about the delay) best of luck in the contest.
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