It’s been a quiet, introspective evening for me, thinking about the senseless loss of a young man from one of our local middle schools. Without saying too much about this particular loss, I’ve been moved in ways I cannot quite put into words.

On the way home from school, I began to think of the heart as a kind of ferry. Growing up in northern Michigan, I have been on the Ironton Ferry many times. The image for this particular post comes from Charlevoix County’s Services and Information Center’s website. Here is what they have offer regarding the ferry:

Ironton Ferry Service

The Ironton Ferry operates during the late spring, summer, and early fall months across the South Arm of Lake Charlevoix. Generally, it is open from mid-April through mid-November. Operating hours are 6:30 a.m. to 10:30 p.m.Fare Information: $3.25 per car $0.50 per person (w/out vehicle or bicycle) $1.00 per person with bicycle A book of 20 tickets can be purchased for $50.00 at the Ferry or the County Treasurer’s Office.

And as I thought about that old, four car cable ferry, this sestina began to take shape. It can be read as the reader will, but these are the words I found to reconcile some sense of grief for a young man I did not know. But I have known that weight, how difficult it can be to carry. There is something in the knowing–too–that a pull may be drawing us to the shore we’ve been seeking.

Best,

Paul W. Hankins

 

“The Old Four Car Cable Ferry”: A Sestina

 

The old four car cable ferry

has been tested for just how much it can carry,

a given tonnage, the standard weight.

The bow beats against water red with iron,

working a plum line, avoiding the potential hurt

of a wind-fallen branch on the water, on the  move

 

This straight way, how she is called to move,

the countless traveler depends upon the ferry

to move from port to port, from hurt to hurt,

trusting in her ability to bring forth, to carry,

her word to the water is as strong as her iron.

A deal is made in the waiting, and it depends upon the weight.

 

The floating ferry and the harried heart know of weight,

an unbalanced load making it difficult to move.

Much is expected of wood, but so much more of iron,

the underbody of the old four car cable ferry,

and everything precious she must carry,

carves the surface cleanly without harm or hurt.

 

What could the water possibly know of hurt?

What does the wave know of a ferry’s weight?

the rate of exchange for every cargo she must  carry

the tender way in which she must move.

Who addresses the needs of the old, four car cable ferry

when the water she loves wears upon her iron?

 

They name small northern villages for the iron,

but they never recognize the nameless hurt

on the deck plates of the old, four car cable ferry.

They tend to miss the ghostly weight

and how the apparitions of past cargo move.

These are extra fares the dutiful carry.

 

This is the exchange for the daily carry,

coinage that could have been pressed from iron.

A traveler’s aboard with the sole purpose to move,

not to share or even process an unspoken  hurt

that comes of carrying the freight of others, their  weight,

the duty call of the old four car cable ferry.

 

To the road across, carry on, no matter the hurt,

hull forged of iron, the village your weight,

pulled shore to shore, carry on, old four car cable ferry.