Volume 8 | Spring 2018

by Tara Garcia

The wind is a cold and cruel bully,
While the sun is timid and hides behind the clouds,
Together making our faces burn and our spirits droop.
As the bully screams in our ears,
Making it a struggle to hear commands,
The dark, blue-green abyss over every surrounding edge
Is his taunting sidekick.
The steel deck beneath our boots
Is sharp and unstable,
As the vessel sways port and starboard,
Up and down.
Our stomachs heave,
Along with our line,
To bring across the roiling gap,
The cherished supplies from the other side.
For our Captain, the fuel,
For us, the mail.
Finally, this evolution complete,
Our elation is cut short
As realization dawns,
There is more to do.
The job is never done.