Page 18 - HEF Pen & Ink 2020

THE EDMUND FITZGERALD
by Ella Shropshire
UNTITLED
by Lydia Fife
They christened a graveyard at the bottom of the lake Nothing but sand
And shipwrecks for miles
Empty
They say bodies sink down there
Trapped in their old ships
People don’t take the dead from the waters icy clutch- es
The wolves at Isle Royale gorge themselves on the crew of the Kamloops
The lake feasts on their ship
Her fingers sticky with blood
That is the way of the lake
Lonely in the blue
Miles from anything but sand and sturgeon
In the depths, they are dancing
In an underwater hall
Look—here lies the SS Evanston
She sank long ago, her hull cracked nearly in two They have only now found the wreck
They say you can hear children playing down there They say there is a cat ghost
Who didn’t wear his life jacket
A few miles ahead
Lies the Lady Hubert
A sailboat
Young and shining
She went down after a long battle
Weather did her in
Her crews scattered to the winds
The mast cracked
Her sail torn and drifting
Her waters haunted by the
Whispers of tearful smiling goodbyes
The freighter St. Helena
Runs a long lonely course
And November’s witch has come knocking
The crew of the ‘Fitz
Lie in the sand by their ship
The wreck is christened a graveyard
An old man floats through the Kamloops
Like the young stewards last words in a bottle
They christened a graveyard at the bottom of the lake But death owns all her cold waters
LOST WORDS
by Nate Schellhardt
16
I am the last one left alive
We are holding our own