Harbor by Hilda Friday

Fuck it, let me be your harbor,
Though ships aren’t meant to stay forever,
Let me hold you in my arms cold and deep,
Each time you return from sea,
Come to me when you seek sleep,
Let me wrap you in my quiet fog blankets
below sailors and the steam of their tea
Darling, rest your creaking wood and wait out your storms
soft whispers between your hull and my surface,
waves rise and fall and the tide my kiss in her form
my own lungs drowned, and me wordless
my crackling finger joint docks reaching for you
hoping you’ll stay someday forever
and honey don’t I know that your skeleton
will one day fall beneath waves so far from my reach


You see, my sketchers just don’t light up anymore.
You leave your ice cream cone melting into gravel
hurrying to the glow of warm mothers-golden-porchlight
The hum of mosquitos no great trial as they flit at the
corners of the screen, kid-noses pressed up to taste salt
Small world, small circle, needing nothing
nothing further than ten footsteps away
your ears warm beneath the curls of your hair
soft press of kisses on my knucklebones
how do I pay that forward? How do I lace up your shoes for you
light the candles on your birthday cake
rub the goosebumps away from those bare arms.
I’ll stroke the hollows of your brow till you fall asleep,
honey don’t you know you’re safe in my cradled hold