I imagine the dry crack,
unremarkable;
no one to observe the fissure,
all but invisible, on the distant face
of the glacier; impossibly slow
the slide of white on white;
the roar of descent, the splash
of the berg unheard –
their echoes yet to be born
at such a latitude, such a longitude:
this is how history is launched:
a frozen chunk of past drifting
blindly, with deadly precision,
into the future.
15 April 2012 – centenary of the Titanic sinking
14/4/1912
piano music drips down the stairwells
sharp splinters of laughter
I imagine the tinkling chandeliers
glowing couples whirling across the floor
and I sit
when the great clock is ready
the jolt is unspectacular
I know these flickering lights and
the stillness before time resumes
and the music strikes up
and the dancing goes on
while I wait
for the hurrying footsteps and
echoing voices past my room
a book slides off a table
the dance speeds up
while I wait
till it bursts through the door
as cold and black as I knew it would be
now the running has stopped
the voices are stilled in great ship’s sigh
and I sit
why should I run
I have always been here
whypoetry 