You stand aboard the Titanic.

The boats have filled and pulled away.

The cries and running past,

a still night and no memories.

There is time for tea, a bit of honey,

a seat by the open porthole,

The evening air.

∞

From the Winter 1989 issue of Inquiring Mind (Vol. 5, No. 2)

Text © 1989–2022 by Eric Kolvig