Waiting for the Sea

There is work to do before the sea rises.
Work to do on this old craft.
Planking to replace. Caulk to be run.
Ribs to sister, one to the other.
It is slow work, but the rising of the sea
is a seasonal thing. Slower than tides.
Waiting for the winter melt.

There is no calendar. No timetable.
All you know is that weather changes,
sometimes in an instant, and the work needs to be done,
so you have an urgency about you
even now, when the skies are empty and blue.
You know
they will change someday
and the sea will rise
and whether or not you have done the work
will determine your life, or death.

About this poem

A poem about life. About faith. About Easter. Poetry is never about one thing.

The picture is not one of mine. I wish I had photographed the label (Like I usually do) to give it proper accreditation. I took the picture at Mass MoCA.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom