Thrown Back

She surfaces

just enough.

Sees the ship receding,

out of reach,

cries unheard.

All she rode with —

family,

friends —

drift on,

sense her absence

unable to find her.

Alone.

Wave upon wave,

she struggles

to stay afloat.

She grasps a chunk of driftwood,

clings.

Ragged edges rake her hands,

shred waterlogged skin.

Splinters pierce her arms,

sharp, thin, familiar.

She falters, sags.

Shadows circle,

the vast cold silence

pulls her downward

Her face dips below the surface,

lifting for every breath,

ready to surrender.

Summoning strength,

courage,

she pulls upward.

At the edge of her view,

a glimmer,

reflected light.

A boat comes near.

Captain leans over the rail,

doesn't ask her to explain —

only whether she wants help.

He extends a lifeline,

calls his crew,

pulls her aboard.

They dry her out,

give medicine,

clean her wounds,

wrap her shaking body in blankets,

feed her.

Then they let her talk.

They don't flinch.

Her trembling subsides,

steps lighten.

Surface wounds heal.

The deeper ones

will take longer.

The crew encircle her,

patient, encouraging...

Until.

The ship's doctor stops by.

He doesn't sit.

His face shows

regret.

We've carried you as far as we're allowed.

We need to drop you off

tomorrow.

She surveys,

shading her eyes,

reeling.

No ships,

no land.

Where?

Wherever we are

when the time comes.

Oh.

Rescue isn't salvation.

Morning.

Goodbyes.

A brittle lifejacket,

a water bottle,

paper lists.

They send her down the ladder,

back into the same ocean

they pulled her from.

Terrified,

she thanks them,

slides into the water.

The first day —

sunny, mild.

The next — colder.

Tired, hungry,

lifejacket slipping.

Saltwater burns

her old cuts.

The deep presses,

pulls,

she remembers the weight.

She searches for driftwood,

finds none.

Imagines monsters

she can't see.

Waves rise like walls,

then fall away.

Alone.

She fights, gasping —

one hand grips the lifejacket,

the other clings to

the paper list.

Saltwater dissolves the ink

as she searches blindly

for an unseen shore.

-- Joseph H. 2025