Spoken on Behalf of the Monument 

Lubec, Maine – July 21, 2025 

by: Annie Sokoloski 

 

I do not speak today as a representative of any group, organization, or family. 

I speak on behalf of stone and salt. 

On behalf of the wind that carries names across the narrows. 

On behalf of the place where memory has weight. 

 

This monument does not play favorites. 

It does not ask how someone voted, 

or whether they were born here or married in. 

It does not know the politics of approval or the divisions of committee. 

 

It knows the names it has been given. 

And it knows the silence of those still missing. 

It knows the footsteps of wives, brothers, daughters, friends— 

coming here to remember, to ask, to grieve, to sit. 

 

I have stood through storms. 

I have held the weight of snow and crow and sorrow. 

I have listened to mothers cry out the same name for years— 

not louder, but deeper. 

 

I have heard the questions left unanswered. 

I have heard the names not yet carved. 

Not forgotten. 

Just waiting. 

 

I am not just a marker. 

I am a gathering place. 

A covenant with the sea— 

to remember what it has taken 

and to promise that those who were loved 

will not be lost again in time. 

 

Some say who belongs here must meet a list. 

A rule. 

A line. 

But I tell you: 

grief does not care for paperwork. 

Love does not check guidelines. 

The sea does not discriminate. 

And neither do I. 

 

I will hold what I can. 

I will remember who I am asked to. 

And I will wait for the names still held in someone’s heart. 

They are no less real. 

No less worthy. 

 

Speak them aloud. 

Bring them here. 

Let them stand beside the others— 

if not on the stone, then in the story. 

In the breath. 

In the tide. 

 

Because I am not only built of granite. 

I am built of witness. 

And I will keep watch. 

 

I have walked this shoreline since I was a child. 

I know these tides the way some people know hymns. 

My family fished these waters. 

Some still do. 

Some were taken. 

 

I have seen names added to this stone that broke me open. 

Not names from the news— 

but names from my life. 

 

And I carry them here. 

Not because I was told to. 

Not because I represent anyone. 

But because I remember. 

 

Because I believe that to honor the dead, 

we must first listen to the living. 

Because I believe the story of a fisherman 

is not just how they died— 

but how they lived. 

 

And if you’ve ever stood at this monument, 

traced a name with your hand, 

or whispered one aloud— 

then you are part of this story, too. 

 

So today, 

I speak not just as myself, 

but with this monument. 

With all of you. 

And for all of them. 

 

No Soul Sails Alone  

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