Danger is not always found in dark places
and on a sunny, sparkling water day
I nearly lost my life sailing a dinghy
a day after the storm swept the Mediterranean
the only sign of its passing, the
long lazy undulating swell that
swished almost silently up the slipway
where my friends helped me position
the tiny boat with its single sail brought
on a roof rack, their part played, they
departed for our rendezvous down the coast
Out round the headland and turn right
was my plan, it seemed feasible
mast stepped and rigged, I pushed off
down the concrete slipway, which, slippery
with slime, shot me downwards into
the clear water of the corner of the coast
the cliffs stretching out to the headland
on my right, and behind me to the left
a rocky stretch, broken only by the slipway
enclosed between concrete walls where nobody
watched my sudden progress into deep water
I pushed the daggerboard down into
it’s slot, tightened the sail, and
gripped the tiller to set my course
– a series of alternating tacks left to open sea
and right, towards the cliffs, then
a couple of tacks into the wind should do it
I thought, then around the headland
and a straight run down the coast
the wind behind me and a peaceful glide
to the rendezvous beach
but soon I realised that every tack
away from the cliffs – broadside on to
the greasy swells, rolled me strongly, spilling
the wind from my sail, slowing my progress and
each tack into the wind what, was not making
the progress I hoped, and each time
I found myself back at the cliff, faster
than seemed right, and then
I saw The cave beneath the headland
a lazy wave suddenly smashing
tons of water into its maw and
I realised my efforts were only
bringing me closer to being sucked
into that awful mouth and crunched
and nobody would ever know
what became of me and so
discretion, the better part of valour
I turned around and with the wind
behind me, I headed back to the slipway
But danger was not yet passed
as I remembered the slippery slope
I would have to negotiate, and speed
seemed the only way to reach the
top and with no regard to the
bottom of the boat, I urged it on
pulling up the dagger board at the
last minute and trusting my aim
I shot up the slime, sail still straining
and tumbled out near enough
to the safe ground to make it up
with just one slip and
pulled the dinghy after me
before a following swell should
pluck it back…
© Andrew Wilson, 2025
Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Dora in Poetics, invites us to write in the manner of Elizabeth Bishop, paying particular attention to consciously incorporating accuracy (detail), spontaneity (immediacy), and mystery (revelation) in writing the poem.
