As with almost all things you can observe good bones underneath neglect. Line, shape, echo. A home, a boat, a woman. Look at what she might have been, had she been loved.

Hollow cheeks and a weary posture belong among us. They speak when voices do not. The wind-shredded tarps tell the story of her abandonment more harshly than proud, bare wood and so we trudge through snowbanks and across this hayfield to visit her again, to whisper to her of her dignity. I lay my hand on her as I always do, pet her like an old dog demoralized with immobility and deprived of its vigor-giving toil.

Sadness makes outrage and outrage makes conviction, if only this: I will never fail something so lovely. I will give it love, even adoptive love, even if all that can be is to give her the pulse of the ocean from the palm of my hand.

copyright ©2009 kate inglis. all rights reserved. no unauthorized reuse.

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