Saturday, June 12, 2010
Poems from the sea
He is 8 and hot rods in a dinghy.
From the stern,
his dad watches the gray launch curl figure eights
and tilt, and gradually slow;
as a mind swept up in the feel of each curve
searches the sea life below.
In these continuous, motoring circles
a boy’s eye finds caves, starfish to pluck, fish to hook.
Discovery is his lure that leads him on the way
a fox can urge a hound to run distances that it doesn’t even realize it is traveling.
He is solitary, the driver, and crew.
A fuel tank, propeller, and engine are ghosts in this world.
Then his dad calls, “Dinner!”….
The words veer across his loop.
Head up now, he turns towards a boat
not too far away where
a man with a red hat peers over its rails.
The man is smiling and laundry hangs on lines.
He rounds up and bee-lines back at full speed blast.
I have been in those loops.
Mine were more in sand and tunnels,
troops, chassis, plastic things.
My son’s are in watery colors, breeze,
a cut’s sting from salt, and
cheeks that will glow at dinner tonight.
June 12, 2010 – San Marcos Island