Sinking Hearts, by Margo Davis

Sinking Hearts 
                            Wallace Hartley’s last hours onboard the RMS Titanic 

We played on, 
eight band members soothing the passengers  
fearful of just this: 
                               the deep. Impersonal 
overly long crushing defeat.
                                            What despair, life 
so brief, leaving shocked
bloated faces. 
            The icy black sea held its breath
several beats as I reached for my violin 

then turned to the White Star song book 
for some favorites that might calm
some.
            A ragtime tune brought 
no solace, so on cue we played a favorite, 
Autumn. 
                I studied the stars 
reflected in glassy waters as Nearer, My God, 
to Thee soothed so few. 
                              No one lingered
spellbound. No lifeboats for us. First Class 
rushed frantically in search of 

loved ones 
                     some half-falling 
into lifeboats. 
                     Sleepy children, hoisted
down in mail sacks. 

Some fell overboard. A man 
shrugged, jumped.
                                On I played, clutching
my violin, each note, my last
                                                until my very last 
would bubble up.

Margo Davis

​Margo’s poems have appeared in The Ekphrastic Review, Misfit Magazine, Light: A Journal of Photography & Poetry, Wisconsin Review, Midwest Quarterly, Slipstream, Agave Magazine, A Clean, Well-Lighted Place, and several Texas Poetry Calendars. Forthcoming poems are to appear in Civilized Beasts, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, Main Street Rag's of Burgers and Ballrooms and Echoes Off a Canyon Wall. Margo says she thrives on closely observing film, photographs, and natural settings. And eavesdropping.