He spat into the ocean and said, "Eat that, Galanos. And make a dream you've killed a man."
He knew he was beaten now finally and without remedy and he went back to the stern and found the jagged end of the tiller would fit in the slot of the rudder well enough for him to steer. He settled the sack around his shoulders and put the skiff on her course. He sailed lightly now and he had no thoughts nor any feelings of any kind. He was past everything now and he sailed the skiff to make his home port as well and as intelligently as he could. In the night sharks hit the carcass as someone might pick up crumbs from the table. The old man paid no attention to them and did not pay any attention to anything except steering. He only noticed how lightly and how well the skiff sailed now there was no great weight beside her.
She's good, he thought. She is sound and not harmed in any way except for the tiller. That is easily replaced.
Visited a local high school English class this morning to share and write some Bigfoot poetry. The kids were great. So talented.
The last night of the Great Lakes Poetry Festival. A Poetry Closing Jam. We had a wonderful musician to accompany poets at an open mic. Lots of different voices. New people. Friends. I was exhausted by the end of the program.
Saint's Marty koan for this evening: sometimes you're the boat, and sometimes you're the carcass.
No comments:
Post a Comment