To An Old Shipwreck
You said shipwrecked was a verb
you needed to be. Of heavy vessel
you meant gauzy, a self divisible by
breeze. Of trawling, you meant hands,
not green-roped net; you meant delicate,
to gather sweetgrass for basketry. Of
East you meant West. Of belvedere
you meant from deep and dark. Going
down, leaving the pink, was for unmatched
blessitude, in sinking and in rest. Of legend,
of attendant, of body, in sincerity you meant
to give me that which you gave: charged
feeling. What’s meant is I want only
to die at the exact depth as you.
First published in “Gravel”
Marjorie Thomsen is the author of “Pretty Things Please” (Turning Point, 2016). She has been nominated twice for a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Her poems have been published widely and read on The Writer’s Almanac. She recently earned certification to become a poet in residence in the Massachusetts Public Schools. Marjorie serves on the board of the New England Poetry Club and teaches clinical social work at Boston University. She lives with her family in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
On why poetry matters: Poetry matters because pleasure, love, and humanity matter.