Once, when I was four,
you put me in a rowboat
and pushed me out
into the open
and told me to pick up my oars.
My wails, slick with green harbour,
swallowed by seagulls, like my life,
lonely, empty, afraid.
It’s for your own safety you said,
but when you pulled me to the docks
I learned to trust you
a little bit less.