If I Had A Boat

If I had a boat, I would leave this place.

I would pack a few things, mostly pictures and letters, soft and tearing at the creases from being read so many times, and I would leave in the night.

I'd light a lantern on the beach and make my way. Staying close to the shore, at least at first, watching all the lights twinkle and pop like a row of sparklers waving at me from the edge of the darkness.

In the morning I'd wave goodbye, as the sun came up and each light died out one by one, moving further and further into the arms of the ocean.

If I had a boat, I would go everywhere. Down the coast of California, through the gulf of Mexico, stopping when I wanted and sending postcards back to my old home.

I'd wake up to the smell of Jasmine blooming on a warm Spring day, buy gauzy white dresses in cobble stone street markets and let the water rock to sleep beneath the blaze of a million stars, swirling upwards the way the sea swirls downward, and contemplate the weight of the moon.

If I had a boat, you would come with me and things would be simple. There would be words for feelings and answers for questions and names for every star in the sky. You would ask me if I wanted to go west or south and when the water was warm and clear we'd drop anchor and jump off the sides of our boat. Gulping salt water into our open laughing mouths and holding each other in the wonder of a weightless love.

At night we'd light candles and eat dinner on the deck, still in our swimsuits, salt in our hair. I would say that life is good and you would agree.

If I had a boat, we'd stop at ports to buy more Tequila. You would dance with me on the beach and I'd make friends with all the locals. When we stumbled back to the harbor, your arm slung around my shoulders like an anchor, you'd say you like this place and I would agree it was the best.

If I had a boat, you'd tell me stories when the ocean was rough with us to calm my nerves. I would be a princess and you would be a hero, animals would talk and your voice would drown out any thunder. You'd hold my head to your chest in the dark, extinguishing the red flame of my worry with your lips, and as we drifted off to sleep you would whisper that I make you happy, and I would agree.

You would make me happy too.