Early morning under clear skies,
I load our trash and a few tools
onto the Mail Boat
and ride the channel
with the pilot and a passenger
to Deer Harbor.
The old boat putts along
in the slow diesel stroke
of an earlier time
before the rush of horsepower.
The sea softly rolls in light winds;
snow capped mountains frame the distance.
I hesitate before these journeys,
not fear of water as much as losing home.
The older I get the deeper I root,
walking among moon shadows,
hailing Aldebaran and Sirius
and Luna’s first quarter.
I’ll work on our boat at the marina
then grocery shop and return
with the afternoon mail.
I come and go with the ease of these times
yet an unspoken part of me never leaves
and to that fertile darkness
I truly belong.
Reading of “Mail Boat” with music by R.L. Burnside
I really like this one Don. I am riding the channel with you. I too hesitate before these journeys—Home is heaven and roots are deep. It is good everywhere, but it is very good here where i truly belong.
I like the story-telling nature of this poem. There is a special peace in the air in the early morning on the water before the world of humans comes alive with activity.
I’m thinking there’s a book of “Island Poems” being hatched…
I agree with Jack — your next book is birthing!
Celebrating you.
Oh, Don, I really love this story-poem, this snapshot of your island life. I agree with previous comments that this could be part of a new book. How about a story about your experiences with your boat that you work on at the marina? I confess, I do love stories!
So great… brought tears of Joy knowing you, Don.
“Of an earlier time before the rush of horsepower.” Like taking a hand saw and hand plane to a piece of oak. Deliberate, slow, so very satisfying. Of a time of true craftsmanship, when every step had a time honored process. Thank you for revealing the process of beauty.
Don,
I love the core hesitation at the center of this poem. The “fear of losing home,” and “the older I get, the deeper I root” turns the mind to the contrast between the sea and land, but then suddenly the reader is among the stars. I also appreciate the way the poem grounds itself in gritty day to day details from which the larger thought form can wander.
As usual, yummy,Don!
Don, this is sweet and melodic, wonderful. Still, I think it is mean of you to write so often about water, seemingly abundant water, when we are reading your work in parched Southern California.