One Port
– Emily Dickinson
in the world. Simple perfection
as in a beach walk.
We didn’t know it
at the time. But we created it.
Even in winter.
Even at low tide, the beach
a mass of bronze seaweed.
There were broken things around:
ruptured shells of crabs and mussels
picked clean. So we walked slowly, deftly
not given to slip on beach stones
laced with rubbery strings of sea weed.
A seagull took to the air, a crab
in its beak, its meal a desired, solitary pleasure.
Leaving behind gullish wrath, it swerved
in a great arc over the seawall.
There was a certain perfection
in how it scored, another in a loon
foraging close to shore.
Our winter beach: its tropics.
Look, he said, passing the binoculars.
From its distinctive white necktie
to its speckled back, the loon was perfect
as his hand sliding into my pocket, his shoulder
pressed to mine.
Photo of Lynn seashore by Bette Keva
From the book ONE PORT Derby Wharf Press
About the poem: Emily Dickinson’s poetry is deeply embedded in my mind, so I will sometimes use one of her lines to sound a keynote in my poem. For this poem, the Dickinson line anticipates the nautical setting, the beach walk, and its simple perfection culminating in the loon and the man’s hand searching for warmth in his mate’s pocket.