Light as a feather she skipped across the waves of the tiny harbor of her life-space
‘Sufficient unto the day being the trouble thereof’.
A child of faith, not ‘cumbered with life’s cares’
Deft and responsive to each passing breeze
With childlike innocence,
The goal and course quite firm in mind
But held so lightly in her hand.
His boat rode low – ore-laden deep in holds wrought stout for heavy seas
Not fast or agile in the least – strong driven and aware
That speed and thrust mixed blessings are when not at sea
With long-term stretch for far-off harbor goal –
In need of constant course
Lest changed direction quick be made –
With ten-mile-radius turns the only way.
She’d prayed for weight – momentum – staying power –
And had forsaken many a chance to take the easy road –
Thus as she sailed, responding from the upper decks while building
Deep below in holds
The weight she’d known she’d need to have
To stay the course
That day –
Now she awakes, looks down, and sees momentum in herself –
Weight not of herself but given space to be of
Her – that in this day of heavy seas
And gale-winds fast approaching, steaming
Onward into storm and night – like cruise ship –
Lights above and stabilized below.
I saw young angles of his frame
Excitement from the gift he’d given
Far greater than he’d showed for gifts received –
Great as that was.
I watched those angles of his frame shift round-ward
Low with passing year emburdened now
Of load he was not built to bear nor
Of that height of seas far higher than his
Masts – thus he, in time, sat out the
Storm, and waited, cork-like,
’Till the quiet came at last.
The weight and stress of life, not sudden,
But with steady building size had
Grown with her into mid-life’s unrelenting
Drive – like Atlas’ growing calf she matched
The growing load with incremental strength
’Till now her rounded movements not yet
Slow were solid to her tasks.
She was not agile, not beneath at least, but light of
Heart, momentum deep as she could be,
Her actions slowed now by the scourge of
Time and inattention to herself as we all be
In our small fleet
Of ships upon the sea.
A River-barge was she – not fleet of quick response
But steady-loaded to the line with constant
Ore to be refined at some far distant port
She’d never see, but without her
Small part there’d be of gold
Refined to set the tiny jewels
She sold right after school,
And wore at times, though
Call for them at her tasks
And me? What is my role -- new ways to see as I push
From each dock some place to be – refining process
Of the sea – engagements of my task that other
Ships now tied up fast might look on
Me and fresh way see to go their ways
With far more grace efficiently.
I’ll never sail the oceans wild, or glide the ports
At eventide with freshening breeze and hearts
That match till home again at dark.
I’ll never freight the river wide, with steady
Load down to the tide, from upper reaches
Draw rough ore, to moor up rarely on
Some shore, preferring to plough on.
I work the channels, watch the ships, and note
The problems as each slips from birth to chosen destination –
Note the agile, then the rounded
Curves which each increasing load of
Cargo makes with age, or ballast placed to stabilize,
Their Journey to the goals and course-selected life --
Till each at last their cruising done they
Decommission , every one, if not first wrecked
On stormy sea or rocks protruding,
Near some shore – close-clipped
By chance or error in the storm.
And then I post results – Though now I see it’s
Not the posts, but me, at sea, they watch and
Copy so to be more life-sufficient