Slipway
At the edge of the yard, a blue tarp flutters like a trapped lung. Beneath it, the hull of a boat half-built, its ribs pale as driftwood. My father sands cedar planks, resin clotting amber on his fingertips. He never speaks of the island he left— just corrects my hammer grip, says: Measure twice. Wood remembers every mistake. Tide pushes… Read more →