Her father embarked at sunrise with a flask of water a samurai sword in the cockpit
a shaven head full of powerful
incantations and enough fuel for a one-way journey into history
But halfway there she thought recounting it later to her children
he must have looked far down at the little fishing boats strung out like bunting on a green blue translucent sea
and beneath them arcing in swathes like a huge flag waved first one way than the other
in a figure of eight the dark shoals of fishes flashing silver as their bellies swivel towards the Sun
and remembered how he and his brothers waiting on the shore built Cairns of pearl gray pebbles
To see who would stood longest the turbulent and rush of breakers
Bringing their father's boat safe. Yes
Grandfather's boat safe to the shore salt sodden awash with cloud marked mackerel black crabs
Feathery prawns the loose silver of white bait and once a tuna the dark prince
muscular dangerous
and though he came back my mother never spoke again in his presence nor did she meet his eyes
and the neighbors too. They treated him as though he no longer existed only we children still chattered and laughed
Till gradually we too learned to be silent to live as though he had never returned
that this was no longer the father we loved
and sometimes she said he must have wondered which had been the better way to die