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Belle in the Bottom * by g. emil reutter It
was a brutal night the kind they say a
man’s breath freezes in the air. Navigating
through a thick fog, a schooner alerted
Willets of Tuckerton there
were cries moaning from the shoreline. Willetts
and crew shoved off blinded by the
fog as its ships bell rang and clanged
into the deafening mist. No cries
could be heard no other bells rang, just dead
air. Several hours they
searched along the outer bar for the troubled
ship to no avail. Then suddenly the
darkened hull of an overturned ship did
appear in the shoals. Bodies bobbed in
the sea bodies hung from rigging none
alive. Steadying themselves Willets
and crew climbed aboard the barnacled
hull of the beached vessel. Just
underfoot near the keel Willets heard a
tapping coming from below. Ax in hand he began chopping,
tearing, chopping the hull. The wood
gave way and a young woman was pulled from the
hull to safety. Her name was not written down,
she knew no English. Upon reaching land she
marked the sand, disappeared into the foggy
mainland never to be seen again. Some say she went to
Philadelphia, some say she went into the pines
and others say she never left. Her
name unknown as the ship she was aboard Anonymous,
the belle in the bottom survived, sailors
frozen to death in the shoals, a ship destroyed in the hard
winter of the Atlantic and a town born of the
sorrow. *The
Town, Ship Bottom, New Jersey
Glint by g. emil reutter We
pass through the eye at Holgate as
Atlantic winds push back, Wooden Jetty beach to the left,
Forsythe Refuge to the right. Quiet roar of
broken waves on beach silent violence of undertow drains powerfully
pushing under white caps under surfers,
under boats to whence it came. She paints seashells with marker
handing out as souvenirs to beachgoers departing. Just
north of her is a photographer capturing image
after image of the horizon of breakers of the jetty when she hears singing
to the south of her, points her camera and zooms
in only to see nothing. Sirens sing as a
boat crosses Little Egg Harbor Inlet, crew ignores
the breathless sounds, passes through as watery admirers
look upward lustfully through sun glint.
g
emil reutter is a writer of poems and stories. He can be found at: https://gereutter.wordpress.com/about/
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