Ana's Aire

This night, the sea appears angry, poised to settle an old grudge?
She smooths young Stella's hair - my child, my hope, my blessing
Again, she must move the child to the side rail as she expels the small contents within her stomach.

Among the days of darkness, she has encountered kindness.
The young man with gentle eyes - dark, Serbian.
Not understanding her words, but offering his tattered, woolen gloves - one more layer against the wind and comfort to her cracked and blistered hands.
She had to hold fast to the ropes so she and the child would be safe.
The old woman squeezed in next to her. Showing Stella her two shiny coins - a trick with her hankie.

She thinks of Paul - how is he passing this night? A gentle pat to her skirt pocket where his last letter rests - tattered now, from so many refoldings. He has settled into the new life, finding a house in the company village for them. Small, but fitting. There are not so many rations in this new life -- bread, cigarettes, occassionally, a chicken.
The mines are providing. His back aches as he crawls through he low, tight spaces.
But the dust isn't too bad. He is lonely and often enjoys the whiskey with her brother after their shifts.
He also admits to needing help trying to get the black soot from his trousers.
She smiles and can see his blue, blue eyes. Moj ljubezen.

As the boat begins to settle, she gazes above, knowing the stars overhead are the same ones he sees this night. Stella shifts in her arms, she hums a lullaby -
"Oh wee child, moj majhen hci, so brave."
Soon, you will see your Oce, your Papa.