We came upon the overturned boat
engulfed in catbrier, timbers rotting,
far from any body of water.
How had we missed it?
Hardly any blue
left on the hull.
You were leaving me,
I was leaving you,
but neither of us had so declared.
One thing we always did well
was walk those trails.
That boat had been sea-worthy,
took every pitch and roll.
Didn’t you reach for my hand?
Maybe I’m imagining.
Love had been complicated, then simple,
then gone. Now it is everywhere.
We didn’t try to get close
or touch it. We understood
it was where it belonged.
Carol Edelstein is a social worker and the founder/co-director of Gallery of Readers in her hometown of Northampton, MA. She is the author of three books of poems, most recently Past Repair (Simian Press, 2020). Her poetry and fiction have been published in numerous anthologies and literary magazines.