• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 10
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‘Vem kan segla förutan vind?’

When I kissed your tears it took me sailing—
deep into Baltic waters where harpoons rust,
U-Boats fall apart and depth chargers roll,
where eels that were the hairs of dead sailors writhe — sending morse bubbles to ripple kelp.
Only the boaters linger here,
dredgers move on, trawlers raise their nets,
only buoys like vultures bobbing
and the all too frequent life ring whirling
where it was still moments before.
Seabirds halo white horses,
as they shake their manes out and rear,
stamping the boat bones to dust.

But up here it's all deck tennis and aquavit
as we bind our curls in silk,
marinade ourselves in olive oil
and dangle our painted toes in the brine—
humming your lullaby as the sun dips
to all our unborn children
as we rip shrimp skins with our teeth
piling their pink coats by lemons
and the salt somehow chilling—

'Vem kan segla förutan vind?
Vem kan ro utan åror?'


‘Vem kan segla förutan vind?’

it stings as you pause to haul
more red onto your lips, and sing on
knowing there will be tears.

'Vem kan skiljas från vännen sin
utan att fälla tårar?'