The Old Man in the Sea

The old man,

cold,

rocked with the steady

hand of the wakes against

the oars.

We stopped

together,

listening to the rupturing

silence of the mist meeting

the sea.

Nothing was the same

now that it was the same

as before.

I watched the black

widow crawl into the old

man’s beard like

death, time lapsed.

Creeping

slowly,

seeping swiftly.

Fog plumed through

the cracks

in the water wrought wood like

maggots breaking

out of flesh for the first time.

The weight of the old

man sat,

heavy on my shoulders.

His blinding white

irises anchored

to the weight,

to the beard,

To the concrete feet.

My lips twisted

Skyward,

As the water closed upon

the space where I last saw

the white, white, weight.

* This poem is published in the award winning book, Northridge Review Fall 2011