Still reasonably happy with this piece, which is a good few years old now.
They cut the knot,
let loose the tumult.
This ship is sinking, they scream;
women and Children first.
The storm carries an ice harvest.
It cuts to the bone,
drops its cargo and dissipates.
Silence pools in the seams.
The kid’s in his cabin,
Tucking himself tight against the weather.
This is a house, not a ship, he thinks.
These warm sheets are home.
Outside they cut loose;
soon the storm is spent.
They cut short.
Three beds are tied up tonight.