holding tight

at six, you were on a grey
ship plowing through
the vast swells,
of the atlantic.
standing at the bow,
peering between the rails,
iron and cold in your
curled hands, which barely
held you steady.
you remember your brown shoes
wet with white sprays of salt.
you were under the arms
of your mother, one child held
to her chest, too small to walk,
the others cupped
between her knees, tugging
at her long coat.
you remember thinking how
easy it would be to jump
into the sea and be gone,
so easy to disappear
from this world that for you
had hardly begun.
the thought has never left
you, even now, these decades
later, as you stand holding
tight to a different ship.