November’s Storms

Taylor Worsham


–a dedication to the SS Edmund Fitzgerald


When the night falls, I stroll along
the banks of Lake Superior
on the tenth of November.

Waves crash to the shore, made so Superior could
write stories she’s created into the sand, but
nobody knows how to read them.

The gale caresses my ears with whispers
of those who are lost, twenty-nine souls
eternally ringing the bell.

The nineteenth hour strikes and it’s deafening:
the harmony of water sloshing in the lungs and
voices pleading for help bounces off the pines.

These haunting melodies keep Fitzgerald’s legacy
washing up onto the sand. Superior forever keeps
the souls reined and wanting, never giving

up her dead.