Winter Boatsby Jean KreilingBecalmed in back yards, cold and mortified, boats hold their breath until the day when stiff blue tarps can be removed, when bows can glide across blue bays. For months, the sleekest skiff looks clumsy, inconvenienced by its own unfloated weight, bound to a rusty trailer, as buoyant as an old shoe or a stone when she should be bound only to a sailor. But he's a summer creature too: he knows how briefly hulls and hearts are light, how short the breathing season is. It's he who tows her, come the fall, to this ignoble port beside the shed; he leaves her high and dry and heavy with a longing for July.
Commended prize, 2013 |