Impact by Billeh Nickerson Page B

of their love.
    Others thought it was an earthquake
    or a mishap in the galley—
    a runaway trolley, a stack of fallen dishes.
    The baker wasn’t sure what happened
    though he hoped his loaves would not fall.
    Â 
    While airtight after airtight compartment filled,
    a second-class passenger ordered his drink
    with chunks from the berg.
    A small child sucked pieces of ice
    as if they were candies,
    and her brothers scraped up snowballs,
    their mother worried only
    they could lose an eye.
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THE PROGNOSIS
    After Thomas Andrews returned to the bridge
    from examining the damage below,
    Â 
    he realized how a doctor must feel
    when delivering a negative prognosis.
    Â 
    While Captain Smith expected the ailment
    to only be minor, a strain or sprain,
    Â 
    Andrews worked hard for the words
    to explain their condition,
    Â 
    how they should all find ways
    to get their personal affairs in order.
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THE BARBER
    Up until now, his only worries were
    rough seas and dull scissors,
    but with each launched lifeboat he gained
    perspective and a newfound clarity—
    the piles of hair, the polite conversations
    where he’d nod yes even when he meant no,
    a life’s worth of postcard sales, miniature lifesavers,
    and the pennants that hung from the ceiling.
    He considered how early barbers worked
    as dentists and bloodletters—
    the spinning pole outside his shop
    symbolizing blue blood to the heart,
    red blood to the body.
    Most customers thought it was a giant candy
    like the peppermints
    he gave to young boys on their first cut.
    He wondered whether he should apologize
    for all the missing hairs
    for he knew the men would need them,
    every last one.
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THE BOY IN LIFEBOAT NO. 14
    Although the boy had yet to hear
    his own voice change or find himself
    needing to shave a scruffy face,
    Second Officer Lightoller still threatened
    to blow the boy’s brains out
    unless he left the lifeboat
    and returned to the sinking ship.
    The women pleaded he was only a boy,
    that there was room enough
    for all of them, but as the lifeboat rocked
    like a giant cradle in the wind,
    Lightoller maintained a strict adherence
    to women and children first .
    One little girl wondered if jumping
    from boat to boat was a game
    only boys could play and, if so,
    why did he seem upset?
    As the older men stood back
    with cigars, enjoyed the last
    few swigs from favourite flasks,
    the boy sat inside a coil of rope,
    heavy with the feeling
    he’d become a man.
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THE WISHING WELL
    As her lifeboat lowered,
    one woman recalled
    a childhood game
    where she squeezed
    both feet
    into the bucket
    from a wishing well,
    and held on tight
    as her brothers
    lowered her
    down
    to the bottom.
    She never opened
    her eyes,
    could only tell
    she made it
    by the splash
    and the lapping sounds
    that reminded her
    of hunting dogs drinking
    from a birdbath
    or pond.
    As her brothers
    pulled her
    back up
    she’d think
    of new excuses
    to tell her mother,
    yet another puddle,
    a spilled glass
    of water,
    a leaky vase
    full of flowers.
----
EDITH EVANS
    A fortune teller once told Edith Evans,
    beware of the water . For years she walked
    with her head down, convinced that if she didn’t
    she’d someday step into a puddle,
    ruin a new pair of shoes.
    Â 
    When the last lifeboat left without her,
    the deck all of a sudden filled with men,
    she reached down to her ankles, undid the laces,
    threw her shoes into the darkness—and waited,
    waited for the splash.
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THE PIANO PLAYER
    Unlike his musician compatriots
    whose instruments could be carried on deck
    Â 
    the ship’s piano player could only watch
    as his band mates played on.
    Â 
    At first he just swayed to the music
    then tapped his feet and hummed
    Â 
    but he couldn’t withstand
    the ache to play along
    Â 
    even without a sound
    his hands slipping from gloves,
    Â 
    his cold fingers
    tickling the air, ghost-style.
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EPIPHANY
    All those years, he’d never harmed