Like an ice floe that floats alone
from the looming icebergs
through the arctic sea,
we travel the whitecaps endlessly.
Our tiny lifeboats hold only one life,
a life frozen, cold to the touch.
The wind pours the sea across the bow,
then into the boat to coat it with ice.
The seal whose skin we wrap ourselves in
was sacrificed in vain.
No warmth is derived,
no comfort provided.
Nowhere is there any of either.
We float endlessly on endless ice.
About the Poet
Cynthia Pitman, a retired English teacher, has been published in Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine, Pain and Renewal Anthology (Vita Brevis Press), Third Wednesday (One Sentence Poem Contest finalist), Saw Palm: Florida Literature and Arts (Pushcart Prize nominee, 2019), Amethyst Review, Ariel Chart, Ekphrastic Review, Adelaide Literary Review, Right Hand Pointing, Dual Coast Magazine, and others. Her poetry collection, The White Room, is forthcoming.