The Tending
He paused at the bending
hand-shaped
like the sea
when it draws down the sky
and fills
its hazy palm
with waves, blurred
by winter’s tracks
in tide and frazil ice
rough-edged, but
precise
like coyote
and also
like you
trotting not far behind
chasing
a clear view
between ice shards.
Be still
at the turning
and send your gaze higher
filling your eyes
with an unbroken sky.
Let the sea
take care
of itself.
This poem is a reminder to myself, a sticky note for days like the one when the coyotes trotted past and startled me out of a thicket. Not one of trees, but a dense wood in my own mind. I have an eleven-year old daughter, and being the parent of a tween feels at times like winding my way through an alder patch: not impossible, but tricky, and with very little idea of what lies ahead.
My thought forest vanished when I saw the coyotes — three of them, their thick coats vivid in the afternoon sunshine. They picked their way in turn through the snowy hillside with grace. Then each one paused briefly to gaze over their shoulder at the ocean’s horizon before disappearing into the woods.
Something about that choreographed backward glance at the hazy sea-sky line tugged at me. The image of curve and pause kept interrupting my thoughts, returning again and again. It took some time — and writing — to sort out why.
I grew up on the shore of Lake Superior in northern Minnesota. I loved exploring the dense mixed woods, comfortable with the claustrophobic hillsides and bog-pocked thickets. But when I felt overwhelmed, I sought out the big lake. Something about that unbroken northern horizon calmed me. It served as a reference, a reset point when life felt overcrowded.
Maybe that was why each coyote’s stop to gaze out over the ocean felt so significant. There I was, surrounding myself with uncertainty’s thick branches, catching my sleeves on each twiggy attempt to be the prepared parent. I had forgotten that even a silent crowd can be overwhelming as we each work at growing up — in whatever phase we find ourselves.
I feel grateful to be reminded that I can still find my horizon when I need it. I will endeavor to trust that my daughter will find hers, too. She is, like each of us, both her own sea and sky.
How incredibly perceptive you are at using your natural world as a metaphor in describing the challenges and beauty of parenting. I love your new model of writing through bear bones. Absolutely cherish learning what lies beyond the poem, in-between the unspoken lines and had understanding of the experience that served as the seed for the poem.
Thank you ever so much for sharing this with me.
Best wishes and many thank you’s.
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Tricia! Thank you for this feedback. I have been feeling unsure about the poem/essay format, but also so compelled to explore it. I’m very grateful to hear your perspective. For now, at least, I’ll keep following this trail. All best to you! Tricia
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