An Old Man of the Sea, Maura H. Harrison (December 2025)

An Old Man of the Sea

People used to pay me plenty—plus

A thousand bucks per plan—to build my boats.

But now they pinch my plans and all my notes

And no one pays a cent. We don’t discuss

Their dreams. There’s never any talk of storms

Or reckoning or quest for Southern Cross.

They build their boats without a prayer across

The foot and tack and shroud, without the forms

Of faith. I never thought I’d live this long.

My sails are heavy, stowed. It is too much.

I turn the engine on each week, a touch

Of penance pleading with the main’s plain song.

I’ve been aboard this boat for years. I’m thinking

Maybe I am a sinful person, sinking.