Last night at the hostel Chu, Brenda and Valerie called me into the kitchen and we ate corn-on-the-cob together. All three were from New York City - Chu, a Vietnamese immigrant at the age of eight, Valerie Irish Catholic who grew up in Queens, Brenda planning a shift to Alaska soon. They were good company; we chatted and laughed as we ate. They were wary of the three, young, confident Sydneysiders sharing the kitchen. One of them, Shannon, drawled her vowels out so much after three months in the U.S. that I didn't recognise her as Australian until she gloated about "us" doing so well at the Olympics.
Later, Brenda and Chu and I sat on the beach looking at the full moon. I talked with them about September 11th - a number of buildings near the WTC site had just been reoccupied, undoubtedly by people such as those I overheard in South Ferry Park a few days ago.
This morning I said goodbye to the three girls - all three of them good, unpretentious Americans.
And now, farewell Nantucket, where few people bother to say hello as they pass by.
If I should pass before my destined day
beyond the misty veil with bare a sigh,
if I should sail till then this wand’rer’s way,
this rolling sea, this blessed, empty sky,
think oft of me as in your rocky keep,
the gusts, the gales, the towering crests, whipped white,
alarm you less than me, upon the deep
beyond the reach of laughter, love and light.
There is a place! that through desire breathes
its warming glow to wearied travellers’ eyes,
its hope an everlasting image weaves
from threads of longing cast into the skies.
Her eyes’ light, her neck’s curve,
softness of her breast,
promising what I cannot grasp.
