Boats

Boats? Some, I love. Others, I loathe.

Some, love-hate. Loved

the sunfish sailboat

in which I learned to sail, at Bible camp, the summer

that I had to try really hard to not be overcome

with my new teen's crush on Anne Walstrom,

who was there that summer.

I loved the simple boats

in which my father and I went fishing

on Lake Spitzer in Otter Tail County, where he

would dip the oars in the water before we set out

so that the six o'clock rowing would not squeak so much

as to wake the other people who slept on the lake--

or drive us crazy.

I like the boats that carry people I love.

I like being helpless in the middle of the water,

too far away from shores 

for any task or responsibility or worry or bother

to touch me.

I like boats, because even though metal is more dense

than water, someone discovered how to make it float—

and sink.

This is how love floats, and sinks us so fast and hard

to the bottom with its gravity from the bombardment 

because it is not just a crush.

Boats.  Some I have loved.

Always.