Jun 7, 2016

The Bay Reminds









Out back, the bay starts 3 to 4 feet deep. 

This morning, very early, standing at the foot of the stairs that lead to the water, I saw several fish, 2 crabs or maybe it was 2 lobsters. And always the movement, the grace of the water, the rhythm, the songs, it never stops. I love the ocean for so many reasons. 

The water is generally clear and affords a view into a world so grand, so majestic. I've been in the shallow part of the bay many times, the bottom sand is firm and you can walk back and forth, back and forth.  And every time I'm in the water walking, I think of the Anne Sexton poem. The filing cabinet in my brain for special poems, slides open and I see the fish in my mind's eye, the fish "out from the tears of God".   



The idea of the poet and the fish comparing worlds, I love that. Being in the water today also took me back to the swim with the sharks at the GA Aquarium.  I'm so at home in the sea, the salt water like no other tonic. 

Today Riley and I had a quiet day.  We walked three times, she is tiny so her walks are not too far. 








I read about 300 pages in a wonderful book, The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah. Oh the joy of being able to read and read and read. I've had to pace myself, the story is so good I don't want the book to end.

And always a nap, a gift I give myself. 




















The Fish That Walked By 

Up from oysters
and the confused weeds,
out from the tears of God,
the wounding tides,
he came.  
He became a hunter of roots
and breathed like a man.
He ruffled through the grasses
and became known to the sky.
I stood close and watched it all.
Beg pardon, he said
but you have skin divers,
you have hooks and nets,
so why shouldn't I
enter your element for a moment?
Though it is curious here,
unusually awkward to walk.
It is without grace.
There is no rhythm
in this country of dirt.

And I said to him:
From some country
that I have misplaced
I can recall a few things...
but the light of the kitchen
gets in the way.
Yet there was a dance
when I kneaded the bread
there was a song my mother
used to sing...
And the salt of God's belly
where I floated in a cup of darkness.
I long for your country, fish.

The fish replied:
You must be a poet,
a lady of evil luck
desiring to be what you are not,
longing to be
what you can only visit.



  By Anne Sexton