Landfall

You were tall-masted in the breeze,

sloop-rigged on the day of your

first landing. I blessed your coming

cautiously, as was my way,

and offered you pearls

from the deepest shelf.

Your hair was shorter than mine,

and I was comfortable in the

modern coat you lent me.

My warrior’s virtue humbled,

I accepted terms —

my life an Open Door

to this new spice trade of your

comings and goings.

Down to today, when I say

to you again that I am not

built for a harbor. Then, again,

I fall forward on the blade,

your tall whiteness,

and ecstatically bleed.

Clare Boothe Luce