cold wharf, whipping wind
this first exhale of winter
tied to choppy unforgiving waters
Category Archives: Working Class Literature
from ‘the river north to South Point’ [And the congregation pushes on…]
11.03.24.1521 hrs
2nd cup of Coffee. 2 hrs 39 minutes until watch.
Standing on the back of the Broaddus, starboard, eating a bowl of Mate Matt Kemp’s made from scratch biscuits and gravy — the biscuit broken into pieces, the way a civilized person eats. We’re rolling northeast. The landscape is hilly; we’re in the bottom of the Appalachian foothills. The sun is burning the last of the overnight chill out of my bones. The hum of the tug G Walker’s engines play in time with the sounds of our wake in a light breeze.
I know I am not one of the lords of the earth; but I am a happy river pebble being pushed along. These divine moments of peace are part of what makes this life the best I have ever lived.
We breathe each other
Some nights after a cruise I will go to bed without taking a shower wearing the scent of the diesel and river on my skin. Though I try not to wake her, she mutters half-awake and pushes up next to me. We breathe each other in. She smells of ripe peaches and spring flowers. We fall asleep.