Carl Sandburg said, “Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.”
This poem brings to life the echoes of my memories from warm and wonderful summer weekends spent on the north shore of Massachusetts with my family during my childhood.
My grandfather taught us to catch Atlantic silversides with a net in a technique called seining. Seine fishing is a style of that uses a net to surround a school of fish. The net is held vertically in the water with a weighted bottom edge, and the top floats with bobbers. In our case, we would each hold an end and capture the fish by encircling the sides around the school. Our goal was to catch enough for dinner. Never more.
The shadow of this memory beckons me to dance every single time. This poem was intentionally written to be read in a way that hopefully reminds the reader, both in its visual presentation as well as the rhythm, of waves gently lapping at the shoreline, and at one’s legs, while wading on the beach. A simple closing of my eyes and my senses spill over with the warmth of the sun on my skin. I lick my lips and can almost taste the salt…breathing in the swirling scent of ocean…bathed in gentle breezes with balmy saline whispers through my hair.
Poetry has a way of offering healing to those who seek it. Artful reflection of experiences, both painful and joyful, may allow greater depth of feeling and exploration of these moments. The intentional estrangement from my grandfather as an adult was, I believe, the healthiest choice for both of us. Honoring memories with him by plucking the love and humanity from particular milliseconds and placing them just so, with such care, to be seen and spoken and heard has served as a tender balm for remnants of regret.
Seining for Silversides
Wading knees
deep in
brisk waves
gradual sloped
shoreline lends
inconstant sand
mass slips
away from
underfoot
with each step
while tickles and
flitters of
shimmering
silversides
pirouette.
We plod along
one stride for
him and
two for me
guiding the
net between
us the
quantity
may be
one or one-
thousand.
It matters not
for the prime
catch of
the day is
always
high spirits.
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