New York Harbor, One September


I first published this poem in 2012, remembering a sail into New York Harbor only days after September 11, 2001—the altered skyline, the smoke upon the water, and the journey back toward home.

New York Harbor, One September

… a September memory, 2001

September comes
with its whimsical wind,
and the bittern’s barbaric yawp
echoes across the creek,
a snowfall of seagulls perch
upon the jetty,
watch
as we hoist our sails
at the mouth of the bay —

the sloop floats like paper
blown
by a little boy’s breath,
past inlet coves and marinas:
we reach the Harbor,
the sun’s golden glint turns to rust,
the air is clothed
with subtle shrouds of grey
for weeping —

far off into the distance the skyline
is a ghastly dream,
toothless
of two towers,
and the salt air mingles with smoke
and burning steel,
ashened mortar,
the  putrescence
of flesh and flowers —

we turn around,
maneuver the wind,
the charts and tides,
to reach our own secluded harbor,
cradled by the arms of moonlight—
we throw down the anchor,
fall asleep under a cupola
of infinite constellations.

by D. G. Vachal. © 2012

*** photography by slgckg @Flickr Commons

Day Sail

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐥​

The tide made docking​
difficult—
I hold glowing coals​
from gripping ropes,​
my hair is a nest of straws​
harvested​
from ocean fields.​

I stand on the bow and watch​
you at the helm​
against a Monét sky,​
the coins of day spent,​
your face burnt and content​

from cranking chrome winches​
and pulling halyards amidst​
twenty knot winds:​
the sloop keeled at wild angles
clowning with whitecaps,​
and the scents of salt and seaweed​
filled our nostrils
and we soared with the seagulls.​

— D. G. Vachal​

from Vachal, D. G. (2026), The Turning of Light, (Amazon)

* Image: Alone by Giampaolo Macorig