Homeland Drift by Glen Wilson

The men left us, one bottle of water
and a nicked and notched oar,
already turning away as they pushed
our boat away from their shallows.

My son sleeps easier thinking it all fun,
These nights under stars, swaying
in the Mediterranean rhythm, a partner
who dips and lifts without restraint.

One day you hold your world the next …
to think back only brings on the loss.
The waves roll in and out, he does not stir.
I keep it all at bay, stroke his hair.

We ran out of food, two days in, not sure
If land would come in two days more.
Three passed on the third night, became
poor offerings for Poseidon.

We see parasols, rainbow towels and
golden ladies stretchered on sand,
A red blotched man stands hands on hips,
Ray-Ban’s not giving anything away.

Already turning away as they pushed
our boat away from their shallows.
The waves roll in and out, he does not stir.
I keep it all at bay, stroke his hair.

 

 

Glen Wilson lives in Portadown, Co Armagh with his wife Rhonda and children Sian and Cain. He has been widely published having work in The Honest Ulsterman, Foliate Oak, Iota, Southword and The Incubator Journal amongst others. In 2014 he won the Poetry Space competition and was shortlisted for the Wasafiri New Writing Prize.  He was shortlisted for the Seamus Heaney Award for New Writing 2016. He is currently working on his first collection of poetry. You can find him on Twitter @glenhwilson.