Ferry by Eric Steineger

Ferry

Hard to believe this June,
landlocked but walking
the marina with you while
I wade in Nashville scorcher,
a week left in this house
before moving to Madison
where chains thrive, the land
leans rural. When I visited,
it was cool with you, hygge
in a long, argyle skirt and
black top, holding a black
umbrella, walked the town
with me, stopped in a lot,
site of your future pizzeria.
Ten steps apart yet intimate
as a tattoo in the gray light.
Let everyone the equivalence:
a painting, a stone to hold
with a smooth, waterborne
texture. Daily, the ferry takes
many over stones, intimate
or boring to fish that live
in the Puget. Where the land
is delightfully broken first
came canoe, then ship, now
ferry known as workhorse,
martyr, carrier of cars
as orcas swim underneath
tourists read, or outside,
on the railing, find islands
in the fog. It took a flight
and a ferry to bring me
to you. At times, I think
ferries go faster than planes
as their wake lingers longer,
an outline carved in water
that becomes us on board
touching, on subterranean
Seattle or hapless exercise
routines before slowing
to a colossal stop, before
reluctantly letting go.

*

Eric Steineger, also known as Charles Steineger, teaches English at East Nashville Magnet High School. He co-hosts The Nashville Poetry Party, and his work has been featured in Waxwing, Rattle: The Poets Respond, The Los Angeles Review, The Night Heron Barks, and other journals.