Today's poem is by Brian Satrom

Houseboats
       

Withered nettles dusted with snow.
Roots of cottonwoods showing

where the sandy riverbank's been
washed away. Crisp air like shattered glass.

We keep finding each other
in the here of different places, walking

through woods by the Mississippi
in St. Paul while caught up in the thereness

of L.A. and those we knew.
Yes, we still have no clear vision.

It's probably good some things don't
happen the way we plan.

You were right.
I missed the signs at first.

We've found ourselves back here and still
together, across the water a marina

with houseboats, some wrapped
in blue plastic, wintering.

I've always thought they'd be a place to live,
a lonely thought to you.

I imagine us floating, moored,
self-contained. Then motoring forward,

finding another place to dock
and at the same time already home. To you

it feels separated from others, to drift
along on a margin, present

but distant, on the edge of things, a kind
of running away or at least a letting go.

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Copyright © 2024 Brian Satrom All rights reserved
from Sugar House Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission