"For A, On Deck of an Arctic Cruise Ship" by David Spicer

For A, On Deck of an Arctic Cruise Ship

You lean against the railing, alone outside
while fifty couples celebrate inside  

by singing or dancing. You gaze
at the Aurora Borealis, long for nights 

you loved the man you loved 
all your life. But you’re alone now,  

dear friend, alone outside. Heavenly  
bodies above you humble humanity,  

and you’re no exception. Tomorrow, 
you, with those hundred other souls, 

might photograph the ancient icebergs 
or just view them from afar, and listen  

to them crack like a pantheon of gods 
protesting. Look, a polar bear! a doctor  

says. How beautiful, his wife whispers.
You stand on the crowd’s margins, 

shiver in your blue goose-down coat
that covers two cashmere sweaters. 

I shiver, too, thinking about you and your 
freezing misery. I want to see the ice’s  

devastation for real, you wrote before you left. 
Maybe I’ll meet new people, dine with similar

spirits. Maybe. I hope so, A. But if you don’t, 
look up at the Arctic sky about midnight. See  

that tiny star near the western horizon? 
That’s me, waving. 

David Spicer

David Spicer is a former medical journal proofreader. He has published poems in Santa Clara Review, Synaeresis, Chiron Review, Remington Review, unbroken, Third Wednesday, CircleStreet, The Bookends Review, The American Poetry Review, Ploughshares, Yellow Mama, The Midnight Boutique, and elsewhere. Nominated for a Best of the Net three times, as well as a Pushcart, he is author of one full-length poetry collection, Everybody Has a Story (St. Luke's Press) and six chapbooks, the latest of which is Tribe of Two (Seven CirclePress). His new full-length collection of poems, Waiting for the Needle Rain, is forthcoming from Hekate Publishing.

Headshot : Nancy Spicer

Photo Credit: Staff