Maritime Accord
Fenn Delaurenti

I

Thick-soled boots clang
on the steel deck of the Young Yamaha.
Her life tanks heavy with illegal crab.
Ice pelted the slit of skin, and curly hairs
exposed on a hardened brow.
He reached out to the railing
anxious hands gripping tight
as she heaved and rolled beneath him,
as he searched the night ahead.

An effort in vain.
No lighthouse off the bow,
This trapezist walks with no net.
His gaze drifted below.
The vicious waves obliterated themselves against the hull.
Inky, its surface merely a loud shell,
beneath, a silent judge stared unending
(hungry and satisfied, unbiased in the ways of man)
an oil well, vast as Orion.

Hark, Fool
That Calling You Hear, Under The Murmur Of The Crowd
What It Says Is Nothing But Mischief
No, The Crabs Do Not Speak To You
In A Dry Carapace Tone, Clicking, Whispering
No, The Crabs Do Not Beg You
To Trade Lives For Diamond Rings
Subdue Your Gambler’s Mind
Behave

He released the railing,
head ablaze, the sleet turned sharp.
He sought shelter in the cabin,
ripping the cover from his face.
An act of God!
Perhaps it was, so curse us sinner sailors,
Lord, why bring the lightning you cast upon our trawler?
Upon my vessel!
The waves clawed underneath.

A rogue wave rose starboard,
barely visible to smoldering eyes.
Turned to the heavens,
they cursed their discipliner.
Only aware of its presence as the cabin began to
Tip tip tip
to the side.
It teetered past three.
Soon sail touched the sea.

Tumbling, trundling down
Upturned, whipped, and spat around.
Not back up, rather further,
deeper, darker.
Bering was lucky to not meet a fate such as this.
The inkwell has burst,
and filled the belly of my only lifeline.
The judge has ruled against us.
My sentence is suffocation.

II

My eyes are wide open,
but they may as well be shut.
Thug thug thug,
the engine pounds beside me.
Viscous diesel fumes fill the air.
I try to stand but fail. The judgment of
a silent observer tugs at my veins.
I am in their dimension now.
Dark and wet. Alone in my humanity.

Hardtack hands feel around
the upturned, sideways, and spun around room.
Over and over again, until I have tied my own wrists.
A little lever is found in the black,
the diesel’s poison is extinguished.
Yet my own breath takes its place.
The air continues to grow thick and rich.
My head lulls to the side, my chest slows its rhythm.
My eyes grow heavy and fall.

From within the hallway,
from within the ink,
a small sliver of silver light shines.
A slender, shimmering, fair-skinned hand
glides from behind the door frame.
A face appears,
her hair flowing behind her.
She crawls out of the water and into the upturned room,
but her hair sways as if still submerged.

Her opal eyes are large and sleepy.
She presses softly against me.
Cheek to cheek, she whispers gently,
promising a great reward.
She pulls back, staring deep with her
jeweled eyes. Chitin ridges surround them.
She plays with my hair and presses her lips against mine.
Violently, she swirls air into my lungs,
swelling cheeks and chest

She releases me. I deflate.
Her tongue clicks.
Her face twists.
Head flattening, shedding hair,
her mouth so full of life, splits and splits again.
Her eyes rise from their sockets,
growing beady and black on their stalks.
A prayer escapes me. A desperate plea.
Trumpets beg, but no angels descend.

Once delicate hands turn ravenous.
Pinching and pulling, my flesh peels back.
Ripping and tearing at my vitals,
spilling gold in thick, molten rivulets
pooling in my palms. Her voiden eyes shimmer.
Desperately, I scoop my treasure back into myself as
she drinks it deeply with chitin lips.
I cry out, cursing the wave that struck me,
and yet I keep dreaming of their prize.