Across the Kattegat, maybe Outer Java
My poem "And All the Brothers Too" is now online at Polu Texni.
It was written last summer on a train passing between New London and New Haven and at a spare desk at![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ladymondegreen's workplace; it has Twelfth Night and WWII submarines and other people's family stories. Childhood memories of visiting the USS Albacore must be in there, too, although I didn't notice until the poem was done. It may still be the only submarine I've ever been inside. I was five or so the first time and loved its narrow corridors and crowded machineries: they were clever spaces for a child to climb around in. I loved the radio room, the sonar room, the navigation center, the berths. There was a smell inside like no other decommissioned ship I'd encountered, engine grease and former human occupancy, I assume, not unpleasant. I saw it once by night as we drove back from Maine, its hull rising against the stars like a breaching whale.
Fornineweaving.
It was written last summer on a train passing between New London and New Haven and at a spare desk at
ladymondegreen's workplace; it has Twelfth Night and WWII submarines and other people's family stories. Childhood memories of visiting the USS Albacore must be in there, too, although I didn't notice until the poem was done. It may still be the only submarine I've ever been inside. I was five or so the first time and loved its narrow corridors and crowded machineries: they were clever spaces for a child to climb around in. I loved the radio room, the sonar room, the navigation center, the berths. There was a smell inside like no other decommissioned ship I'd encountered, engine grease and former human occupancy, I assume, not unpleasant. I saw it once by night as we drove back from Maine, its hull rising against the stars like a breaching whale.For
nineweaving.