Sails & Tales | Poetry – Clay Appell
Winter Isle
Cold and dark; exposed and sullen
Snow drifts higher than sand dunes
Locals hibernate and find solace in one another’s company
Inside the kettle whistles; outside the wind follows suit
The dog and cat become restless—they want out!
The cold air migrates into old homes
It is March now and we all yearn for Spring
Will it come in like a lamb or a lion?
The sea looks uninviting
Come May it will sparkle and tempt the hardiest islanders
It is dreary and frigid, yet oddly majestic
No tourists occupy the narrow downtown streets
Soon enough spring will come
Manufactured Isle
Days go slow
Will I sleep tonight?
The invisible killers lurk in the shadows
We all await the latest update—change is inevitable
Let’s hold hands around the dinner table, like old times
Then later we can check our smartphones
Homes become islands—are they paradises or prisons?
Are we sheltered or trapped? Do we have enough to eat and drink?
Like caged animals, but no master to take care of us
Like bugs in amber
They say he died from the virus
But he was prepared—he had hand sanitizer and disinfectant wipes
So it goes…
And the birds gaze upon our houses, they are the only things free
To fly uninhibited—fly away from here
Now we question our mortality—what a sobering thought
Nothing to do but ponder in this hermitic existence