HENRY THE NAVIGATOR Poem by Maruja Vieira

In memory of Enrique Uribe White
On the dawn of May eighteen
the "Santa Eulalia" weighed anchors.
The captain was on the bridge.

The old wise mariner
relit his pipe
and consulted
his ancient astrolabe.

There were his books, intact,
the bow and arrows,
the games,
the disks,
the cats.

We remained ashore
looking at his going away
on his last unexpected
voyage.

Is he going to the Arctic,
where the great grandfather
was looking for
Captain Franklin's
lost expedition?

He'll always
sail by night,
running along
the Milky Way,
a lord of shadows
and music,
of puzzles and engines.

Then he'll
anchor
on a star
of the Taurus
constellation
and when we
look up at the sky
we'll see
the "Santa Eulalia" lights
twinkling.