Here

Our village long ago had a placid pond, spring-fed,

flowing a little waterfall into Atlantic brine.

One dawn, folks saw the rocks had broken away,

and the pond drained out to the sea,

the sea rushing in the new little channel:

protected harbor to delight old salts!

One day the ocean hiccupped far away

and flung a wave at us that entered our channel

roaring around our harbor’s edge,

sweeping boats, docks, out-buildings before it

like autumn leaves, then exited again!

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Long ago we’d go out to favorite spots on the sea

(We knew our marks!) filling the boat with cod so easily!

Fish to roll the boat right over!

Fish each time the jig went down!

On the shore they made a mountain--

can’t get rich at 3 cents a pound!

Now they say cod are endangered

(but the big boats still catch lots of them!)

Just look at the price in the coop store!

We could lose our boat

for catching more than a few cod.

The government was giving loans

for bigger and bigger boats

right up till they closed the fishery.

Once, to make crab-fishing less unfair,

we blockaded our channel, boats end on end.

That was a proud time when we worked together

and the licenses we gained are still shared.

Now we have a fine little harbor

with a million-dollar fishing fleet,

a big wharf with gas for boats,

a dredged channel, a co-op buyer,

a floating wharf for tourist boats,

and a little cluster of whale-watch booths.

The government built the wharf high,

expecting a rising ocean.

When we go to sleep in our village,

we don’t know what to expect next!

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018