Before the tunnel was built
we crossed by ferry.
The sea was choppy.
It was December.
We met a few passengers,
peers on the journey;
and though it wasn’t that long,
with the rolling sensation
from head to toe of the innards
retching like waves inside us,
it seemed an eternity.
Then we were in the metro
and the ticket counter closed,
early gray Sunday morning;
we walked down an unknown street.
A woman came up to us,
reached in her purse, smiled, and handed
us a roll of tickets.
That is all I remember.