There was once a sailboat being built in the basement of my North Portland, St. John's neighborhood, house. I imagined on many occasions having to fill the basement with water in order to ever see it set sail. I'm not sure if it was completed, but it left my basement, and I'm sure I cried enough at the time to at least help it float a little.
excerpt from "boat stain." photo from morgueFile by Penywise
Boat Stain
sailboat glue hardens like glass,
a buried in the backyard
brown Clorox bleach bottle glass
it takes hours to dry
completely,
hours for the smell to leave your nostrils, to leave
your clothing...
as if an army of tiny men
unshowered for weeks
crawled into the weave of your white
pit-stained work shirt
and sat on the threads as a child in the nook of a tree
I knew you had forgotten
to remove your boots
when you left the shop for fresh air
and water,
just like the mud prints after gardening
in the summer...except
this print is still a pattern
on the tile
a light brown, barely noticeable against
the terra cotta orange of the kitchen, but
more of you than the neckties in the closet,
or the boat, still in the basement.
©Erin Croley
sailboat glue hardens like glass,
a buried in the backyard
brown Clorox bleach bottle glass
it takes hours to dry
completely,
hours for the smell to leave your nostrils, to leave
your clothing...
as if an army of tiny men
unshowered for weeks
crawled into the weave of your white
pit-stained work shirt
and sat on the threads as a child in the nook of a tree
I knew you had forgotten
to remove your boots
when you left the shop for fresh air
and water,
just like the mud prints after gardening
in the summer...except
this print is still a pattern
on the tile
a light brown, barely noticeable against
the terra cotta orange of the kitchen, but
more of you than the neckties in the closet,
or the boat, still in the basement.
©Erin Croley
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