Wednesday, March 31, 2010

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The Shipfitter's Wife

I loved him most
when he came home from work,
his fingers still curled from fitting pipe,
his denim shirt ringed with sweat
and smelling of salt, the drying weeds
of the ocean. I would go to him where he sat
on the edge of the bed, his forehead
anointed with grease, his cracked hands
jammed between his thighs, and unlace
the steel-toed boots, stroke his ankles,
his calves, the pads and bones of his feet.
Then I'd open his clothes and take
the whole day inside me-the ship's
gray sides, the miles of copper pipe,
the voice of the first man clanging
off the hull's silver ribs, spark of lead
kissing metal, the clamp, the winch,
the white fire of the torch, the whistle
and the long drive home.

-Dorianne Laux

5 comments:

FishermansDaughter said...

Wow. Something else. Made me think of The Fisherman.

susanna said...

Love love love this poem! Thank you for this...I'm going to look up the poet online. Have you ever read Anne Michael's Skin Divers? It's one of my favourite poems ever.

sinnlighet said...

Thank you for your comments on my blog, they always makes me soo happy.

Your blogs is, as usual, full of inspiration and I want to wish you a Happy Easter!

Agneta, Sweden

dutchbaby said...

First, I love your new grey dress! Wonderful pairing of photo and poem, Yoli!

rochambeau said...

Hi Yoli,
Methinks The Shipfitter had a nice welcome, something to forward to at the end of the day ~
Beautiful words by Dorianne Laux!

How is your little P?
xox
Constance