"Dolphin," the old man said aloud. "Big dolphin."
He shipped his oars and brought a small line from under the bow. It had a wire leader and a medium-sized hook and he baited it with one of the sardines. He let it go over the side and then made it fast to a ring bolt in the stern. Then he baited another line and left it coiled in the shade of the bow. He went back to rowing and to watching the long-winged black bird who was working, now, low over the water.
Tonight, I guest-hosted an open mic for a friend who's facing some big struggles right now. I won't share the details of those struggles. That's not my place. Let's just say that she's rowing her boat through some very rough seas at the moment.
I read some of my new poems and a couple blog posts for the open mic. My son read an essay that he wrote for fun about his grandparents and aunts. For fun. I don't know any 13-year-old boys who write for pleasure. I did when I was his age, but I'm certainly the exception. And his essay was better than anything I've ever graded in the college composition classes I've taught.
And a great poet friend of mine was there, as well. She read two poems she'd written--one for the memorial service of her sister and one for the memorial service of her significant other. They were both heartbreaking and beautiful. Both of us have lost two people we loved in the last six months.
It seemed that was the theme of the evening. Dealing with struggles and loss. Also, reclaiming life and those moments when beauty breaks through the darkness. My poet friend, as she was leaving at the end of the night, said, "This was really healing."
That's it. We're all rowing our little boats on very big, unpredictable waters. Every once in a while, we find a safe harbor. A place where poetry and light lives and green trees walk in the wind.
Saint Marty found safe harbor tonight.
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