by June Robertson Beisch
So this is how it feels, the deck tilting,
the world slipping away as one
sitting at a desk writes a check.
The Titanic went down titanically
like a goddess glittering,
Pinioned to an iceberg, she sank
almost thankfully while tiny mortals
leapt into the sea
and the band played Nearer My God to Thee.
But what happened to the signals of distress?
Nobody believed it was all really happening.
I still can’t believe that it happened to me.
As a child, I stared horrified at the photograph
and the vision of that scene in the moonlit sea.
We will be one of the survivors, we think,
then something looms up like catastrophe.
All life, it seems, is the morning after
and love is the most beautiful of absolute disasters.