To Scale

Menemsha is a magical place.
In of and surrounded by the sea.

Imagine what a young child feels
standing in the shadow
of the behemoth swordfishing boat hulls
that line the wooden docks.

The mysteries that await them
in the swirl of eddies behind the jetty
running full tilt across the crescent of sandy beach
or wading slowly slowly with net in hand
as a tiny creature wiggles under the nearby stone.

Tales both tall and terrifying
can be overheard sitting on the bench at squid row.
Sloppy sided rubber boots
drip salty puddles.
Floppy brimmed canvas hats
get tossed on coils of rusted ropes and chains.
Whip thin rods and lines
cast delicate wakes
and listen…
to all the sounds that water can make.

It’s the definition of childhood.

Two such curious and adventure bound children
were walking along the new pier
built in the wake of that dreadful fire
which razed the Coast Guard boathouse.

I don’t remember if it was before
or after the ice cream cones
but the energy was high
and the sun was shining.

The boy ran ahead.
He had spotted this fish
laying so perfectly and with nary a fisherman in sight
as if it had just leapt out of the sea.

His sister remarked on the brilliance of the colors
and he reached into his pocket
and layed the three bottle caps he had collected
in a neat row alongside.

All of this
and more
is dancing
in that shadow.