decisions

while crossing the atlantic,
staring
out at the rough tumble
of a dark violent
sea,
I thought what would
happen
if I just stepped between
the rail,
and leaped in.
disappearing into the almost
black water.
my mother was beside me,
holding the youngest
in her arms,
while the others gripped
the grey metal
rail, cold as ice.
I was only six, so it would
be doubtful that it
could be called
a suicide. an accident
perhaps, what child would
think of doing himself in.
I didn't jump, but did
peer over, my head
between the rails and studied
the churn of the boat,
the waves breaking,
the trouble of it all
and what life
could be, or not be,
each day that we're here.