First, a poem

First, a poem about a place in Maine where I spent much of my formative youth.

Nor’easter Island

Scene: A wave slides into
A deep crag in the rocks
Spraying morning dewy saltwater
At my feet.
Coastline: A rising floor waxes and wanes
Under the knobby roof of a
Cave housing baby seals.
Hunting: I stand observing coastline as
Mama patrols for threats.

Before she takes notice I escape
the wet hindering lag of clothing and jump
in. A juicy rush of shear blue glass
makes a panicky break for the backs of my eyeballs
then recedes like the tide as my first exhale
sends bitter bubbles into the breakers. My body becomes
a pincushion and before I can surface the chill
causes a desperate gasp inviting pinch and tug into my lungs.

For a moment I see an angry seal in sparring stance
barking at a thrumming bush then find
the surface again, and seek out
warmth on the beach rock.
Home above the sea
I feel I should
never leave.

Next time I’ll let the cold take
Me and find home in
Desolate Depths.