by Sean Patrick Hill

Who is the third who always walks beside you?

The ship itself was splinters, and the shore
Littered with the bones of sea birds and dogs.
They named their camp Patience, where they waited
Four months beside the open water’s edge
Where Shackleton launched his dinghy and left
Twenty-two men at the extremity
Of their strength—Elephant Island. At night
They slept beneath the overturned boats, while
Shackleton crossed the glacial maze on South
Georgia Island, screws through his boots. Having
Pierced the veneer of outside things, having
Grown bigger in the bigness of the whole,
The men, counting themselves, kept adding one—
The glory, the text, the naked soul of man.

Sean Patrick Hill is a freelance writer in Portland, Oregon. He earned his MA in Writing from Portland State University, where he won the Burnham Graduate Award. He received a grant from Regional Arts and Culture Council and residencies from Montana Artists Refuge, Fishtrap, and the Oregon State University Trillium Project. His poems appear or are forthcoming in Exquisite Corpse, elimae, diode, In Posse Review, Willow Springs, RealPoetik, New York Quarterly, Copper Nickel, Juked, Sawbuck, Redactions, and Quarter After Eight. His blog site is theimaginedfield.blogspot.com.

Back to Issue Two: Winter 2009