Titanic and I sit at the poker table,

Faces stoic, with the ghost of smiles upon our lips.

I’ve laid my cards out—

A full house.

Three Ace of Diamonds and two King of Hearts.

Handfuls of new beginnings.

Rebirthing myself as the Phoenix always has—

Rising from the ashes of my former incarnation,

My feathers catch the sunlight

And entice the iceberg, waiting in the water

To pacify the storm rumbling in my guts.

I should’ve listened the first time

When my instincts told me to jump ship

Before the boiler room overflowed.

But the Titanic has a way about her—

I cannot deny her company in her loneliest hour.

Wherever her grand staircase leads me,

I am still a prisoner.

Her empty ballrooms,

Full of rusty apparitions—

They left behind a shoe.

A hat. A coat.

A pocket watch.

These riches for the winning hand;

Spare me the golden burden of sharing the last waltz.

They awoke that cold April morning

And ignored the guttural engine groaning

Until she was ass-up

And drowning.