When I was a young boy I lived not far from the old whaling village of Sag Harbour, New York. It is a unique town and the old homes there are well perserved. As you walked nearer to the port there were all these sea captains' houses with there distinct widow's walk balconies. I got to thinking one day about a sea captain returning from many months on a whaling adventure and finding his home empty. This is the writing that was spawned:
Puddles
(Ode to Sea Captains)
From his widow’s walk window
he watched the rain-splashed-
slashing, wet scars collect
in midnight’s heavy streets.
Unable to sleep, restless;
the thoughts– like puddles–
reflecting the past;
muddy, murky, muddled
water-gatherings, consumed him.
In these scattered pools
pods of memories lurk– no rhyme,
no reason, no resolve–
refracting her pure form
only to be dissolved
by morning’s brutal-bright sunlight.
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I would like to visit Sag Harbour one day.....
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