North Haven, Sunday

Nathaniel Krenkel

Photo Credit: Jim McDonough/Flickr (CC-by-nc-nd)

You were leaving on the last ferry
Down to Portland to see old friends
And so,
While you were at work
I packed the car with your bag, put a can of seltzer
Between the seats
Then walked to the terminal
To purchase your ticket
I stopped at the gallery
Susan was hanging her collage show
We talked about juxtaposition, John Cage, Elvis and
How beautiful water damage can be
Afterward, I waited on the porch, listening to the rain
And then I saw you
Walking up Mills Street
Your work shoes making you taller than I’m used to
I saw you first
But soon after you waved
I said, I got your ticket
And you said something kind
I think it might be fun to write a crime novel
Or paint a wall pink
Or unfollow everyone
But for now, I’ll stay sitting on the cushion you made
And imagine you
Out on the water, in the middle of the bay, in the rain
Looking at pictures of the kids on your phone
Or just looking out at the grey swells
Thinking about nothing except the smallest of things
Like what a bird does
Once its belly is full.


Nathaniel Krenkel runs a small record label. He is a graduate of Bowdoin College, grew up in a small town in Utah, spent time in Glasgow, Scotland and NYC, and currently lives in Portland, Maine. Email: nate[at]

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