The Ferry

By NATHAN MCCLAIN

I still had a lover. Maybe let’s start there.
I hitched a ride to Boston, where I missed

the ferry by what seemed like minutes. But time
can work that way in the mind. I was in love

or wanted to be in love and there was distance
everywhere is maybe a better way to put it,

though what exactly was it, I hadn’t given it
a designation. I looked for the boat, it wasn’t there:

only the dock, a few seagulls, a blue distance.
If I was supposed to wave goodbye, I missed

my chance, though what did I care, so in love
with solitude, at least I was at the time.

It seemed easy, being lonely, watching time
lapse, that boat long dispatched, I’d missed it

yet there I was waving, like a fool in love
perhaps, at what? I couldn’t tell. I wasn’t there

when the ferry left, remember, I missed
it, or they went on without me. The distance

made it hard to see clearly where distance
ended, or if it did. Or I didn’t make it in time

to see, maybe time was against me. I missed
the ferry, I had no money. The ferryman said It 

was fine and smiled at me. Smiled. There
was the shore and me wanting to be in love

though I wasn’t. I carried what I could. Love?
I didn’t have room for it. In the distance,

I swore my solitude waved. I missed it where
I was headed, sure, but there was hardly time

for that. The boat was early. I boarded it
and stood on the stern. Part of me was missing,

but there had to be a cost. That part I missed—
my mind a rough sea I might have loved

watching lap were I not so inside it—
my mind the fish, too, the shore distant

as the voice I thought I heard in it, as time
itself. The ferry was late. I was there

hoping I missed it. I didn’t trust the distance,
lovely as it seemed. I didn’t trust time

nor where it carried me. I knew what was there.

 

Nathan McClain is the author of Scale; a recipient of fellowships from the Sewanee Writers’ Conference, The Frost Place, and the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference; and a graduate of Warren Wilson’s MFA Program for Writers. His poetry and prose have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Poem-a-Day, The Baffler, upstreet, and West Branch Wired. He teaches at Hampshire College.

[Purchase Issue 18 here.]

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

The Ferry

Related Posts

Image of a tomato seedling

Talks with the Besieged: Documentary Poetry from Occupied Ukraine  

ALEX AVERBUCH
Russians are already in Starobilsk / what nonsense / Dmytrovka and Zhukivka – who is there? / half a hundred bears went past in the / direction of Oleksiivka / write more clearly / what’s the situation in Novoaidar? / the bridge by café Natalie got blown up / according to unconfirmed reports

A Tour of America

MORIEL ROTHMAN-ZECHER
This afternoon I am well, thank you. / Walking down Main Street in Danville, KY. / The heavy wind so sensuous. / Last night I fell- / ated four different men back in / Philadelphia season lush and slippery / with time and leaves. / Keep your eyes to yourself, yid. / As a kid, I pledged only to engage / in onanism on special holidays.

cover for "True Mistakes" by Lena Moses-Schmitt

Giving the Poem a Body: Megan Pinto interviews Lena Moses-Schmitt

LENA MOSES-SCHMITT
I think sometimes movement can be used to show how thought is made manifest outside the body. And also just more generally: when you leave the house, when you are walking, your thoughts change because your environment changes, and your body is changing. Moving is a way of your consciousness interacting with the world.