liminal

Sometimes she stands on the edge of her seeking
like a stranger,
yet to board the vessel that will
take her to the new land.
It’s dusk,
the horizon is obscured by clouds,
the waves are rough.

She doesn’t truly know whether
she wants to take the journey
(though the brochure promised much).
Yet here she is
and it is dark, and cold.
The sun has set—
the moon is just past full and it will rise
in time perhaps to fare her well
and send its pondered light across the waves
until the sun—surely?—rises on a fresh day
keen with warmth.

She knows this in her heart
despite her fears
and when the man offers her his hand to board the boat
she grasps it firmly and smiles, a smile not yet of joy,
but of her smaller sister, courage.
It spreads from lips to eyes.

It’s true the moon does rise,
the eastern clouds have thinned
and light, sheer light, spills
across the water.

written 12 January 2012