Storm Lantern

The widow wakes, fearful for her son,
Striking the light that gutters by night,
He herring-bound out on the ocean.
Rain rides the croft as its master,
Hammering wet nails upon windows in vengeance.

Already fearful of the weather’s laughing spite,
Her hope of a matchstick flares.
Lighting a little her midnight madness.
Crying out, she stumbles down the path to the sea.
Mackintoshed against the night, holding forth her fire.

Wives gather by the water, their vigil
Looking for the vanguard upon the sounding waves
Anxious and bent against the wind, old mother
Holds the flickering lantern above their faces,
Showing hers more advanced in years and worries.

Seeing if there is an answering light from the sea,
That cup of darkness, that poisoned chalice
The fishwives curse for the taking of their men,
Their loves and livelihood in the raw-salted hours.
Hating the caprice, the callousness of the deep.

A yellow pinprick answers out to sea,
Small as corn on the cob from a mountain,
Gold coinage of peace to his mother’s heart.
Sighing and lowering his lighted lantern,
Hoping he will be home soon, and warm.

Waning is the light that gives hope.
Water floods the deck, the catch is lost.
Seamen fear for their lives in Neptune’s hour,
Shallow, fickle master as he is,
Poseidon’s slaves preparing to descend.

Young women comfort the old,
As her stiff fingers drop the fire.
Breaking with a tinkle on harbour cobbles,
She feels their embrace through the driving rain,
Amidst empty waste of weather, comfort in solidarity.