The axis of our planet slipped and the Bermuda sun fractured against the horizon. Golden milk, hibiscus and lavender were hot bruises on the sky West of the Great Sound. A group of us are homebound toward one of the islands, moving in from the Atlantic after a long day clutching and releasing spears through scales and skin. Two bloated hinds, a red snapper, and large jack sat glaze-eyed and gutted in a bag on the floor near the stern. We felt justified for the bounty and fortunate to afford the luxury of a modern hunt.Bermuda L
For many miles, we drove perpendicular to the current. The engine groaned and chewed on the waves. I understood then the necessity of active resistance. Palpable friction affords passage to the right destination. Even our own minds raise their arms against a thing that is coming with haste and threatening our mark. We could finally accept that not all we resist persists. Eventually the wind changes, the moon draws away, and the pistons churn and push you past the sea.
The night cinched in around us and our seven spirits formed a constellation in the breeze. Our lips were sticky with salt and baked in sunlight. We licked our teeth in tandem, each of us hungry for some private pleasure in the distance. I could see Orion hanging in the far black sky; our worn-white home beneath it cloaked in shadows. The bay was wet with night and glow worms flickered by in flash dances. Easing the throttle forward and lowering the engine, we stuck our leaden feet to the deck and narrowed our pupils to strike the distance. Any boat can stitch itself to your side and identify with your bones. Need necessitates bond. Its power becomes your power; its spine is now your spine.
When we docked, I hugged the path leading to the sweet, humid house. Some women followed, and some stayed with the men to clean the fish by the water. I walked to our bedroom in a body burned by starlight. I spread my sweating skin on our sheets and let my mind go slack.