November Poem 6: Marina (Part 7)

I looked out the porthole and pressed my hand

Against the wall to stop the blood. The wall

That I had scraped and painted for him. For

His dream. The dream that he had left in my

Hands for me to squander. And here it was

My blood painting the walls. But the view out

The porthole remained unchanged. The lights still

Shone their spotlights on the docks with their boats

Tied and floating on the soft rise and fall

Of the water in the protected cove

Of the marina, and the moon still hung

In the sky painting its reflection on

The water. And then I thought I knew why

It was that Jimmy had so loved the sea.

 

Marina (Part 6)

Marina (Part 5)

Marina (Part 4)

Marina (Part 3)

Marina (Part 2)

Marina (Part 1)

How I Write: a Walk Through

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3 thoughts on “November Poem 6: Marina (Part 7)

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