Auspices only go so far,
then comes time to shove the swelling waves
aside and hunt plump mussels huddled
underneath the massed mirage. Are         
the children strong enough to swim the black sea,
to ward off whales themselves?
Couldn't I be a good example in desiring,
in venturing?
And you're going to be fine as well.
Don't you have plans tucked, dry, under
the gunnel eaves, dreams you've deferred
or been too shy to touch?
I hope so.
I don't know where I'll be or when you'll hear
from me next but there's nothing  
more to me than what I've shared with you,
and you've been gracious to listen.
I've attended you this entire time too.
You spoke so eloquently
about how you piled gray shucks here, pearls there,
building up both genii,
and I think we see each other clearly,
hulls in a shipyard, whose ribs
were formed from common lumber.
We've turned out differently, but why feel ill
about it? We're two good, solid craft,
strakes elegant and planking tight.

I launch alone now, bound for
whelks and walruses, much hard work.
                                                      Martine
             played the role of mermaid, of a siren,
                          her one lure, my own desire.
For that, I'm sorry,
I needlessly hurt you.
Still, wish me fair winds?   Luck?

Silent, I didn't recognize the Martine/maritime convergence, thank you. This is a personal reference within the series of poems, but your suggestion is adding my thinking process about whether to keep her name here or not. Tom

I think you said this would be your last one.  Kudos for not ending at 50, if so.  That would be just too perfect, too predictable.  And this series has been far from predictable.

The ship and ocean and whale metaphors are good.  This is not as sad or desperate as some of the others, which fits the reality--N has prepared, planned, questioned and all but explained his freedom venture, and now he's ready, revealing Martine's agenda.

Love it.  And even if it's not the last one, it's still good and all compliments apply.

cheryl

Cheryl, I agree about "50"! There still is another poem after this one, but I doubt it will wind up as "50" since some of the unsubmitted ones are probably not going to make it, so it'll probably end up as less than 50 for that reason!
Thanks for showing me your reading. It gives me confidence about this poem, and for some reason, I always feel the 2nd to last thing in a series is the pivot. Tom

Yogi is the Source of Everything, as you well know, SL.
Somewhere in the back of my mind there is some misplaced memory about 2nd-to-lastness being a "thing" for some reason, but I have no idea what, who, when, why, how or if! Tom

I wanted to write just that letter to someone - oh, so loing ago.

What a nice comment, Lavonne. Thank you. I'm sure you got your message through too. Tom

First:  much enjoyed, Tom.  Especially enjoyed the voyage through this poem and where it leads, where it goes, the questioning end words.
Then:  While I like the sound of opening word, something holds me back from loving it.  Not certain why that is, except perhaps it seems a fuzzy entrance into what follows ... ?

ld

Thank you, Lynn, and I'm glad you brought "auspices" up. I spent a lot of thought on that word, looking for one that most specifically might refer to a foretelling of weather to be used in deciding when to launch a successful voyage.
An auspex was a kind of augur who made divinations based on the observation of birds, and so, of all the words I could think of, it seemed the most likely choice for sea-voyage omens. But there may be a better word that I can't come up with, and if anyone knows of one, please do let me know. I would like to consider it.
--Tom

There may not be a better word, but maybe a way to frame the word or bring the reader inside its meaning -- ?  Then again, perhaps it's fine as is ...

will mull on it, Lynn, thank you.  there's something I like about opening with this word, and a cost, as you point out.  will play with it in my head and see....

Tom, I see that I'm not alone in relating to this poem in a personal way.
the mark of a great write, sir


Stella

Enjoyed hearing that, Stella.
What is poetry after all if not sharing personal stuff that no one around us is remotely interested in? (Just kidding.)
Tom