Horseshoe Crabs
In ’94 I visited Cape May, New Jersey with my sister. Every year on the full moon of May great numbers of birds converge there for the eggs of horseshoe crabs. As the sun touches the western horizon and the full moon breaks over the east, terns and red knots go into a frenzy.
As the crabs lay their eggs they are tossed about by waves, with birds diving into the water, some riding the crabs in the rough surf.
Small green eggs, this transcendent chaos between sun and moon and earth. This affirmation of time’s greater purpose.
sunset, moonrise–– / waves passing into silence / into light
San Marcos
Night and the tall oak had fallen on the San Marcos river. Swept away through a culvert in the dark water, I cracked a rib as I caught hold of the oak’s highest branches and took my first breath.
In the engulfing waves I realized no one would hear me calling. I had to decide if I would swim injured in the dark, or try to climb up the branches of the tree against the rushing current. In that dark water things began to slip away.
My watch. My glasses. I could feel my shoes going. Then my socks. And my pants. Everything.
My orientation and sense of time. The past too, washing away as I was immersed in an immense presence, taking my regrets, fears, any reason for postponement or inaction.
In turn, San Marcos, the patron saint of childbirth, left something precious for me in that old tree. Washed clean and naked, I plucked from every limb, every branch an affirming, resounding,
” Yes.”
the fallen oak / light streaming through / every branch
Hurricane
Days of preparing for the storm had left me spent. When the hurricane arrived I watched in dread as the river leapt out of its banks, crossing roads in waves and pouring into fields, forests and houses.
But then I remembered why we are here.
I walked into the water with my drum, songs, and tobacco. In joy I praised its gifts of life, enduring beauty, and sweet teachings. Then exhausted I slipped into sleep, remembering the shared joy of a day spent sledding long ago.
When I awoke, threads of light had began to spill onto the fields, the water had calmed and returned to its bed, tired and complete.
tides of rain–– / a saffron newt / warming the puddle
Click on the gold link above or on the embed below to view the video “Horseshoe Crabs” on the Snow on Water YouTube Channel Poetry playlist.
