The truth is
I dreamt of those ships
Long before the brig was barred
The wheel was spun
The sails were hoisted
I dreamt of that ship, pine and cotton dancing across my tongue
I do not mourn the sailors
A thousand widow's tears could not embitter me
Before anyone, I was salt
I do not weep over the trees hewed down, resin gurgling
Over the bent backs of iron stores, or the silent pleads of coal
I dreamt of those ships with dry eyes and the only knot a panging one at the bottom of my stomach
I mourn my children
Eddies overcome by bunches of lumber
Waves smothered while fighting a desperate craft
Whirlpools, my eldest, my dearest
Whirlpools choked, the thing in their throats born on land but promised to me
I dreamt it
I mourn for my children, their fight is never easy
Their job, to feed me, is never over