To father is to captain
the tall-masted ship
through dark and icy waters,
emerging from your quarters
only to bark swift orders
at the blind and sunburned crew.
Navigate the foreign seas with gusto
as if you are certain of this direction,
but at night you stand alone
at the bow, staring into the sky
searching for polaris, the only stable star.
All you see are shapes of noble women chained,
awaiting the jaws of the sea monster Cetus
or the sword of some bastard, orphan hero
Perseuing immortality. She waits, immobile,
with galaxies swimming in her eyes and hair.
You retreat below deck, stepping around your sleeping crew,
pause before the youngest, watching his eyelids quiver as he dreams.
You pull the salty blanket up under his chin and hope
he will be strong enough to someday steer this ship in circles.
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