A Meeting in Monochrome

White knuckles gripping feverishly to
metal handrails. If I loosen my grasp, I’ll
sink. Disappear into the bottomless blue
that surrounds. The safety of the harbour
is far behind, out of reach. No turning back.

Focus on the horizon, that’s what they said.
Focus on the horizon, as the boat sways and
your head spirals. Rise and fall, left and right,
port and starboard. I bend my knees to the
ocean’s rhythm, but my sea legs are still missing.

Icy droplets slice at my exposed face, with
every plunge comes a drenching. People stagger
across the deck. Adjusting with every change of
direction, avoiding the sea’s cruel spray. But I
am still. I am cold, I am wet, but I am still.

Stomach churning, lunging, clenching.
In through the nose, out through the mouth –
even breathing makes me nauseous. I stumble
to the stern, unable to control. A regal Icelandic
flag quivers in the wind beside me, as I heave.

Then they appear. At five o’clock, now eleven.
There, right there! I’ve forgotten the layout of
a clockface, endlessly rotating with every shout
and gesture out to sea. We keep our distance;
we don’t disturb. Trespassing on their Winter home.

Powerful dorsal fins, slick and ebony, pierce
through the surface. The sickness forgotten. They
are all I feel, all I experience. Camera abandoned, I
invest everything into this oceanic introduction.
Falling tears mix with the salty sea. Indistinguishable.