Stay

“It is a joy to be hidden but disaster not to be found.”

—D. W. Winnicott

I have always loved the geometry of ships, their bowsprits and their brails, 
their trestletrees and jibbooms. Walking along the harbor,
I admire the long lines of the mizzenmasts, the angled elegance of sails.

I have always believed in geometry as a domain for hiding secrets—
the clean lines distracting from what’s below deck and what’s under-
sea: the muck, the wrecks, the sea monsters in the endless freezing dark.

I believe in Winnicott’s joy of being hidden, heightened by the disaster 
of not being found—as a wind for days might not find a sail,
and what a relief that is, until it isn’t. There is a part of the rigging

called the stays, straining in an unexpected wind. Stay, won’t you? 
Please, stay. Because starboard, stays are called, instead, shrouds—
the sound of forever being stayed, the final sound of not being

found.

Read more from Issue 20.2.