POEMS/ Meditation on a Boad of Arrows

Meditation on a Boat of Arrows

I still feel the pain of that ancient 
straw boat pierced with three thousand 
sharp arrows I once saw flying 
suspended above me in a museum, 
its last sea sailed, its journeys done, 
final battle fought, held aloft 
but ever doomed by art 
to endless suffering, 
no hope of homecoming,
no victory within its grasp, 
no chance of floating free,  
its image tale of a Chinese general’s 
trickery, how he faked an attack 
to lure his enemy to discharge
all their arrows to refill his 
own empty quivers, how he 
risked pain for gain, high price 
I too would pay to refit my compass 
for ventures still to come, 
but I am no general, no magician, 
have no power to relaunch a ship 
without a keel, undone by the loss 
of one who sailed with me 
through seas rough and smooth, 
unsure now of the way home.

©Phyllis Beck Katz

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