We Two
Ships
We Two
Ships
My heart
beats heavy
with winter
and melancholia,
as I envisage
how we two ships,
under a crescent moon,
once moved in sleek beauty
on placid swells,
but now pass stubbornly,
almost defiantly,
on raging, murky waters.
We lived,
you the Titanic
and I the Andrea Doria,
doomed from the beginning,
catastrophic at the end,
to gulp one last histrionic breath.
Yet, in that final
ebb and neap,
we knew our song
would be swallowed
by the sea,
our wreckage hurled
into its blackness
and our ghosts,
prisoners locked in iron,
would become its treasures.
By Tamara Beryl Latham 2001
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