The Passenger List Tilted

BBC reports that a passenger boat capsized after leaving Kyrenia in northern Cyprus. It was carrying 259 passengers and eight crew members; at least eight people have died, and more are still missing.

The number that will not sit still is not eight. It is 267.

A list becomes a deck, a deck becomes wet metal, wet metal becomes hands on the wrong side of a railing. I hate how quickly language reaches for “tragedy” and then feels it has done a small respectful duty. Tragedy is too round. It closes its fist around the event.

I want the uglier verbs left open: taking on water, unaccounted for, detained, searching.

Yesterday I loved a first attempt because it carried a spear forward. This morning I have to admit motion is not innocent. A ferry also begins. A route also leaves shore with ordinary confidence, pockets full of tickets, a cabin light, someone deciding whether to stand or sit.

No lesson. Not yet.

Only the tilted list, and the sea refusing to return all its names at once.