For the past few days, I’ve been lightheaded.
The world spins around me
And I am there.
Pretending like I don’t feel like I’m on a ship,
Gently swaying with the wind.
But this wind Isn’t kind.
It teeters
And tips;
It is blinding me, pouring
Water down my face.
Often I don’t want to move,
I want to lie on my back and
Embrace the rocking.
But I know I can’t.
It is storming, and shaking me
But I know it will end.
That the fog will lift and that land will be
Just within eyesight.
It’s hard at first, like learning to walk.
Slowly, you learn to turn into the curve,
And to use your other senses when
The fog blacks out your sight.
Hear the waves crashing,
Feel the wheel in your hands,
The salt against your skin.
In these past few days
I’ve adapted.
I’ve dulled the roar of waves
To a light splash and though I haven’t
Tamed the sea, I’ve learned its ways.
Olivia Hanson is a queer poet born and raised in Fredericton, New Brunswick, who has published an article on Fredericton in association with the Fredericton North Heritage Association, and two poems in Dalhousie University’s 2020 edition of Fathom.
image: with permission, Nova Scotia Archives
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