Dear Fritz Guest House,

Sage CohenSage poetry and prose8 Comments

I sleep the sleep of seagulls.
Sucked-out shell and salt.

I fold my wings in and tuck
my head under like the idea

of a ship and slip along
the surface of time. It has taken

41 years to prepare this body
for living. Beside my bed

the blown-over trees seem
to be aching with every

arm they have for someone
across this ocean.

Last night soaking in sulphur
floating out over our world

I met a man. I didn’t know it yet,
but he had a tiny, conch-like curl

of plastic whispering secrets
in his ear. I joined the chorus

as we soaked our skin in stars.
He was a gentle man, worn

smooth by pain. We asked
our questions and the ocean,

like all great teachers,
did not answer.

8 Comments on “Dear Fritz Guest House,”

  1. I love the movement of this poem, how it glides along like the ship it calls up in metaphor.And the “gentle man, worn smooth by pain”, and the ocean that never answers.Your peom awakens something within which joins with your voice and calls out in question. Wonderful! Thank you!

  2. I was drawn in from the first line, ahhhhhh. Immediately you create a very visual scene. It makes me want to hear more of your writings.

  3. This is just lovely. As is Dear Henry. I am new to you/r site and your poems. I am grateful for the gift.

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