Written by Katharine Wood

Photograph by  Artem Verbo

Photograph by Artem Verbo

Turn off the phone,

Ignore emails,

Scrub teeth of soiled dreams

and sail away.


They will expect you to drive,

or fly or to hide

in your parent’s reveries.

Living a life of clockwork tuning.


But you want to be alone.

To be on snow-globed horizon,

where sea and sky meet

in hazed blue.


Buy all the tins and cans

and bottled water.

Let the cashier look sideways

and give him a briny smile.


Steal a 42-foot Yacht

in bruised morning light.

Listening to creaking chatter

of wooden decks.


Cut ropes and drift

to unknown waters.

And let them talk

and search and wonder.


Your cracked skin will cave

over bones.

As missing posters, yellow

in soured memories.


And you will laugh,

as gulls sweep down

and peel away your crusty stress.

Leaving a muted shell.