Tuesday, August 07, 2018
Last Day
So... I am back from remote Osler Island, and have seized the blog back from the French Department of Agriculture.
I did write some poetry this year, though I can't vouch for the quality. Here is the first one:
Last Day (of the Fishing Trip)
I meant to grant clemency
To my bait, the survivors;
Send them back to the waters
From which they'd been taken.
The rain had come
So I wore my old green boots.
I stepped towards the edge
Planted my foot
And then
The ground was no longer there.
There is that moment
In the air
When you know you are falling
That you will land
That you stepped wrong;
The rocks are below you
Just rocks
Hard and sharp and dark.
And yet... I landed.
My head was not split open
No bone was broken
Not too much blood.
I washed dark red blood into the cold blue lake,
And watched the freed captives
I had thrown in the air.
They flew to the water
And struggled, struggled,
As they found their way.
In the end
They freed themselves.
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I was in Belize a few years ago, and we were going to "swim with the sharks." We stopped in a little cove to catch minnows with which to attract the sharks. Your poem reminded me of the image of Nina, a German girl in our group, covertly taking handfuls of minnows from the chum bucket and throwing them back in the water. Your bait acted through footing mirages; ours acted through a nice German girl. Nature always finds a way.
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