What Could Be More Necessary Than Poetry or the Sea?

My husband recites long-out-of-favor Longfellow and I know why I’m here.
Longfellow brought him to words and words brought him to me.
Sandpipers scuttle shoreline, tracks in wet sand.

The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep …

And round the pebbly beaches far and wide … .

I never thought it was coming for me, this violent, beautiful sea.

“By which magic does the earth breathe?” the professor asks.

“Define the forces of nature, including the fifth we call
quintessence.”

Last night we sat out with a crescent moon and a smattering of stars.
I almost fell asleep to the rhythmic crashing and low hollow sounds, salt spray in my nostrils and on the arms of the wooden chair and on the cushions. I’m not going to pretend. Most of my adventures take place in my imagination; more ventures inner than outer. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this: Home is my muse.

In the morning dolphins leap in the surf close in.
I’m drawn here by the light,
bright with no seeing.

Mr. Boynton gave us each a poem to memorize.
“Abou Ben Adhem” was mine.
Mr. Boynton taught us from a chaise in the front of the room after his heart attack.

“Name five coastal towns. Name the seven seas, the seven winds.”

Once the forces of nature were one.

We all die sometime.

My first epiphany, at ten: My family, asleep. I’m sitting on a balcony on a cliff looking out over the sea. At dawn. Under the spell of sea-surrender. Feeling greater and smaller than I ever have. All of it and none of it are me. All of it and none of it are mine.

We know nothing and we know everything.