the southernmost sea

When you think you have finished
with your family, your quiet but unshifting life
of servitude and patience and predictability
when you are ready to leave

you come to me

and bring your adventurous soul
and zeal for the fantastic
because it is here, what you long for
in rolling waves of icicle sharp water
that lead to broken but impenetrable island floes
that allow neither walking nor sailing nor standing
that will take your heart to its breaking point
and make you feel alive
because you are so close to death

you come to me
and I will soon enough remind you
of a warm bath, a perfect bed,
of boring people who lead boring lives
of availability

you come to me
and I will soon enough remind you
of what you left behind.

—

I wrote this while watching the documentary The Endurance, about Shackleton’s journey to the south pole.

It was very difficult to find a tone for this poem, to find a balance in comparing a domesticated life versus an adventurous one. Both have their advantages and disadvantages. Because reality has a way of giving judgment simply by being presented, I tried to write in a more journalistic manner, but still wound up siding with the domesticated life, after hearing some of the interviews in the documentary–how men left their families behind, how they never came back. Some of the stories told by their grandchildren who only know of their grandfathers through journals.

As with many of my poems, this one contains allegory.

“It was more than tantalizing. It was maddening.” — Dr. Macklin, The Endurance