I have been a woman lost at sea, drifting
toward uncertain conclusion, but
always with an eye on the compass, steering
where the passage seemed safe and true.
All who shared my ports of call have
left some souvenir I carry in a breast pocket
along with ticket stubs colored red and blue
and green. These are the maps of a life
which forms a fraction- half of whole, I surmise,
based on my father’s epic journey.

In younger days I thought uncertain waters would
swallow me, would drown my spirit
in waves like so much flotsam,
so I sailed in the wake of mariners I trusted
and prospered modestly. But now
a red sky brings the thrill of open water-no
warning for me-and I let the sails billow,
hand on the wheel, chin tilted to the wind,
remembering that Demeter charmed Poseidon
and I am descended from her.

No safety line now, just my eyes on the horizon
and my heart pressing the stars for guidance
as I set my course toward journey’s end. Old
maps are useless in these waters, where Leviathan
churns the waves and swallows the unprepared, where
previous travelers have warned, “There be danger here”. I sail,
undaunted, into these seas where my spyglass finds
new lands which hold great bounty,
new stories to fill my ink-stained log,
new acolytes in search of a goddess.

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